


Shadows of the Day

by Zaya_Ayame



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Comfort/Angst, Cruel and unusual punishment, Cycle of Abuse, F/F, Flashbacks, For the Love of Shadow Weaver, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Just a tiiiny bit of OC/Canon shipping lol, Lesbian Sex, Look she feels bad but this Shadow Weaver we're talking about here, Mentioned Horde Prime (She-Ra), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sassy Shadow Weaver, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner Lives (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner Redemption (She-Ra), Soul-Searching, Survivor Guilt, There's Comedy!, for flavor, slow burn redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaya_Ayame/pseuds/Zaya_Ayame
Summary: For reasons unknown, Shadow Weaver's attempted self-sacrifice seemed to have failed somehow. Transported back to the place where Light Spinner ended and 'Shadow Weaver' began, the sorceress must come to grips with surviving the spell that was meant to be her last (and only) hope given to her wards and find her place in a world that she believed was better off without her.
Relationships: Angella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Castaspella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 128
Kudos: 135





	1. Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> To begin, I’d like to just say that I hope you find some form of comfort and enjoyment with this story! I’ve gone through many fics, theories and some struggles as well in coming up with this idea, but ultimately, I decided that this would be a fun, thought-provoking but self-indulgent idea that would hopefully spark some warmth within many of you. As with any fic, please regard the tags of the fic responsibly and I hope that you approach this story with an open mind and an open heart!
> 
> For anyone with a Spotify Account, I made a playlist that will hint to various future scenes and hopefully set the mood to how I see and perceive Shadow Weaver. Enjoy!  
> [Shadow Weaver Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7JjINFd0WC5PiuDueN5x18?si=wHbfzhwaQ9iS6B0t7ay7Cg)

>   
>  “…the world’s made of light and darkness. You can’t have one without the other, ’cause darkness is half of everything. Sorta makes ya wonder why we are scared of the dark.”  
>  -King Mickey  
> 

…  
..  
.  
Within the silence of the Hall of Sorcerers, Mystacor stagnated with uncertainty and wariness. Magicians, young and old, had only just become aware of themselves after the chips installed by Horde Prime had fizzled and fallen off. They questioned, worried about their loved ones and companions, whom had survived the aftermath of the attack and who remained absent and unaccounted for. While many had left the comfort of the kingdom in the sky, a select few had stayed behind to ensure the safety of the realm. 

It was mere moments later that a soft rumble, not unusual in a place where some magicians had suffered the occasional accident, shook the floor beneath the few that stayed behind. It lasted only a few moments, eliciting a few looks of worry, before it subsided – leaving the silent question of what had happened in their minds. Elsewhere, unpopulated, a dark and powerful cloud of energy began to expand into existence. Small, almost unnoticeable at first, it would look like a tiny thunder cloud with lightning, fire and smoke crackling softly in the pregnant silence of the spell-caster’s foyer. 

Along the floor, runes and sigils would spark to life – flickering briefly with some arcane and old magic, before fading away. Then, as the cloud expanded to almost half the size of the room, it would suddenly implode in on itself like an unstable reaction before exploding in a loud rumble and expelling something from within it’s grasp ungracefully along the floor. 

Unmoving, the dark and shadowed figure would remain for a few long moments, until a low groan of discomfort and pain broke the silence. The shadows melted away from the figure, burnt and _still burning_ , before fading into nothing – their form vibrating with power before that too would ease into a calm stillness. Pushing themselves up from the floor, mussed and wild black hair visible from beyond the mixed palette of reds, the figure would give a sudden sharp and pained gasp. Their hand came to clutch at their breast with a grimace on their face visible for any with eyes to see. 

“W-What-?” Shadow Weaver gasped, feeling as though she were choking on the air around her as the pain of very deep burns in her skin gifted her with the unwanted familiarity of mortality. A gnarled, clawed hand came up slowly to be appraised by the sorceress as she witnessed that she was, in fact… alive. 

But why? 

Against all expectations, calculations and rational summations… what was clearly reality didn’t make any sense. While a student AND teacher of the supernatural and arcane, Shadow Weaver could not lay claim to the academic knowledge of the ‘Other Side’ – Etherian culture did not possess much in the way of Theological Theory. No, magic was far more tactile than the word of faith. 

Clearly, this was no afterlife – which, naturally left the less likely (however impossible) answer: The spell did not erase her from existence. 

With a sudden gasp and groan of pain, the scarred spellcaster fell back against the ground as her strained muscles rebelled against her, “Ugh, I… I don’t have time to figure this out,” She mumbled with scorn before she lifted her head once more to take in her surroundings. Within seconds, she was able to piece together the familiarity of the room she’d reanimated within and her eyes widened in barely-suppressed fear…

The Hall of Sorcerers… and where’s she’d first cast the Spell of Obtainment with Micah. 

The chill of hands along her body, pulling, ripping – beckoning had her shudder and swallow thickly with anxiety. _I should not be here…_ Came the first instinctive, paralyzing realization. It was one thing to travel the halls as a shadow, lurking around safe corners and protective alcoves; it was another to be bared as flesh to the very invisible specter of her past. Pulling her gaze to the scrying pool above her, Shadow Weaver reached up quickly to pull herself to her feet. 

Whatever the reason she was forced among the living, pulled to the once-sanctuary of her past and left partially burnt to a crisp – it was clear that she needed to start moving. Now. 

Bound by habitual use, Shadow Weaver beckoned to the shadows of her dark power to envelope her – closing her eyes as she imagined the cold, metallic refuge of the Fright Zone. She would regroup, research and remain anonymous to the world until she could come to terms with this… ‘lease’ on life. Meditation, as _Perfuma_ would say and-

Shadow Weaver’s eyes snapped open, her call unanswered and her hunched over form still very much untethered to the shadows in the room. “What?!” She hissed, unglued and panicked as she searched frantically around herself for the pull and push of her shadow tendrils. When it became clear to her that the shadows were unsympathetic to her plight, Shadow Weaver’s shoulders slumped with deadpanned apathy, “…Oh, you have **got** to be kidding me.” 

More questions that demanded answers; just not right now. “-Guess we’re leaving the old-fashioned way,” She grumbled, stomping passed the scrying table with almost comical annoyance. As she approached the doorframe of the room, the sound of quickly approaching footfalls caused her to stop and still in shock. Without much time to contemplate what she didn’t and _didn’t_ have at her disposal, Shadow Weaver quickly pressed herself against a wall and threw up her hands in a fluid motion of an invisibility spell. 

Just before the figures of magicians burst through the door, Shadow Weaver felt the cool rush of the enchantment wash over her body and tensed as she awaited the appraisal of the guards. When their gazes passed over the walls in her direction and then looked beyond her – she released the softest of sighs through her nose in relief. 

A beast, declawed, was still a threat with teeth and she was grateful that whatever deity with a sense of humor to take away her dark magic was at least merciful enough to leave the pool of magic she was born with. If there was one thing she hated – it was a joke without a punchline. 

Silently, she slithered from the room as the magicians patrolled and walked with a brisk pace down the halls. With her ears open and blood singing with adrenaline, the once-celebrated mentor was seeking the refuge of an unlikely but familiar office that had remained thankfully untouched since the battle against Horde Prime. It bore no symbols or sentimental evidence of her existence, as she expected it wouldn’t. Honestly, she was surprised to find the office empty. 

Small wonder, given the fatalities her world had suffered. 

Taking solace inside, Shadow Weaver quickly took a moment to come up with a proper plan of escape. She would take stock of her knowledge of Mystacor, quickly surmising the most accessible exit without arousing too much attention.

What happened, instead, is that she walked over to the chaise in the farthest corner of the room and flopped upon it with all the energy of the tired old woman that she was – or felt like, anyway. All at once, out of sudden danger of discovery, the invisible sorceress was waylaid by the past events of the last… what, ten minutes of what she believed were her last moments of life?

She meant every word to her wards; to Catra. While she would have wanted to blame the copious amounts of cranberry spirits she’d ingested just before bringing Catra to Adora… She didn’t take the pains of sacrificing her life for Catra in some back-handed attempt to manipulate her. In spite of what many _lesser -minded_ individuals believed. 

Shadow Weaver grimaced, an arm thrown over her eyes as the lights stung at her vision. 

Did her last-ditch effort amount to anything? Catra. Adora. She had no dark powers to seek them out from the convenience of her hiding place. Too risky to return to that scrying bowl. Anxiety that she’d worked years to stifle and suppress ripped at her as she clenched her jaw tightly. 

Did her last-ditch effort amount to anything? Catra. Adora. She had no dark powers to seek them out from the convenience of her hiding place. Too risky to return to that scrying bowl. Anxiety that she’d worked years to stifle and suppress ripped at her as she clenched her jaw tightly. The unknown, mortal enemy of her mind, laughed in her laugh as her hands clenched tightly. She had to assume they made it to the heart, simply because the world wasn’t taken to darkness as Prime had chanted like a broken record. _I must… **trust** that they have succeeded._ The sound of movement caught her attention, a soft gasp escaping her as she took away her arm from her face to look up.

She didn’t have any more time to waste. 

Standing from the chaise, just as the door to the office opened, Shadow Weaver looked on as a rather tall sorceress looked on with visible suspicion upon her face. Like Norwyn, they possessed similar features of the capra but Shadow Weaver wasn’t bother by that. No, what bothered her was that they seemed to yawn almost lackadaisically before walking seemingly _right to her_. 

Fighting against her tense muscles, Shadow Weaver moved as quickly and quietly as she could out of the path of the magician – biting down on her tongue the entire time as the pain of her burns and muscles fought against her. Within agonizing seconds that felt like hours, she was out the door and heel-to-toeing down the hall. 

Step by step, her ears occasionally twitching upward as an isolated sound would catch her attention, Shadow Weaver crept through Mystacor. Passing the classrooms, evading the kitchen (in spite of the inappropriate clench of pain in her stomach) and passing a silent insult in respect to Norwyn as she slinked away from his memorial – she’d finally reached the path that would lead to the moving mountains that protected Mystacor’s entrance. 

Freedom was within her grasp.

That was, until a sudden excruciating pain lanced down her spine, flooring her nearly instantly, “AUGH!” From the inside out, it felt as though she was melting and exploding all at once and she is immediately reminded of the pain of near death the first time her dark magic lashed out against her body. Seeking magic that was slipping away, feasting on it greedily as she wasted away in the prisons of the Fright Zone.

Were the fates truly so cruel as to make her relive that time? To destroy what Adora had worked so hard to restore?

A small part of her accepted that it was an irony she deserved.

Breathing through her teeth, Shadow Weaver pushed herself back to her feet just in time to hear the pulse of a spell being cast. Her blood ran cold, instinct dictating that she run, but her own body betraying her resulted in a sudden illusion of vines entrapping her to the ground and forcing her arms away from her body. How had they found her so quickly? Her spell was still intact, hidden from view. Unless… Bound, in pain and annoyed, the sorceress had to admit, begrudgingly…

“Clever,” Her voice droned, tipped in amusement, “Prepared for my return for two decades? I must admit; I was surprised the runes were hidden so well.” From behind her, a soft voice carried.

“The mistake of the Light Spinner’s Era was felt by all of us for years,” The very same Capra that had shared her office came into view, arms crossed, “The council agreed years ago that it was only a matter of time before you’d return and we weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to hold you to your crimes.” 

Shadow Weaver raised a brow, pleasantly surprised, “But of course. Better late than never, right?” She liked the one.

“My thoughts exactly,” The Magician agreed before calling two others to take hold of her, “Take her to the Vault; I will send for a private missive for the Head Sorceress once the Princess Alliance has declared it is safe to do so,” She informed them, each beginning to cart her away. In spite of her being captured, Shadow Weaver could not help the question that bubbled into her throat, calling out.

“Prime is defeated?” She hated how hopeful her voice sounded, completely unintentional.

She looked down upon her, the act making Shadow Weaver’s hands clench into fists, “Yes, no thanks to you.” Oh, how wrong she was – the temptation to rub it in her face that she WAS, in fact, the reason Prime had lost. She stilled her tongue, however, practicing only enough self-control to respond alternatively with:

“You’re _welcome._ ”


	2. Running From My Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to act like nothing affects you when you don't believe you have anything left to lose.  
> Shadow Weaver realizes that she does have something left to lose.  
> Also, more nameless OC totally not being a reflection of self-righteousness.

> “The closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes.”  
>  — Awakening Voice

The Vault was familiar to Shadow Weaver and rightly so. Many on Mystacor were aware of how short and to the point Light Spinner was, arguably cold to even those she deigned to spend her off-hours with. However, what many were _not_ aware of was the why of it and to the Sorceress – she liked to keep it that way.

Once she was escorted into the Vault and the suppression spells were put into place, Shadow Weaver was left to her own company for a short while as her jailors convened. The Vault was a wide, open place with hardly anything of note in the room. Unlike in Brightmoon, she was not confined to a circle. Rather, the entire cell was the circle itself and unlike the Horde – she was not limited in movement by those _damnable_ restraints. 

_I might be a little resentful of that,_ Shadow Weaver thought with amusement, taking a rest by one of the farthest walls to seek obscurity. Twice, whilst being escorted to the Vault, she’d forgotten that she was without her mask and felt the impulsive desire to cover her face – an itch that was left sorely unattended to as her guards refused to allow her even a veil. 

Perhaps out of an abundance of caution.  
Perhaps out of spite.  
Perhaps because they were too curious.

It didn’t matter. She’d made her choice to show Adora and Catra her face and, though habits were hard to break, Shadow Weaver was a woman of conviction. She would persevere; no, _flourish_ as the sunflower did in the fields. Let them gaze upon her face-

Still, she cursed the sudden flinch as the sound of a door opening echoed through the lower levels of Mystacor. Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes upon the figure that soon stood at the frame of the cell, casting a cursory look through it until they found her. She remained silent, recognizing it as the magician that caught her on the outskirts of Mystacor, _How annoying…_

“Shadow Weaver; hiding in the corner?” Came the wry call, thoroughly annoying said sorceress.

“What can I do for you?” Shadow Weaver called back cooly, ever polite just to spite her captors.

“We’ll get to that,” They returned, surprisingly opening the entrance to the Vault and walking in. On instinct, Shadow Weaver was already calculating her chances of escape and just how humiliating she could make it for the nameless magician before a tug upon her being had her give a disgusted grunt. They approached, hardly appearing cautious, before stopping just before her, “We’ve been monitoring the status of your magical constitution,” They spoke passively, as if they were a doctor telling Shadow Weaver that state of affairs. 

Despite her mistrust, she was intrigued, “A new course of magic? In this hall of study? Color me _surprised_.”

“Spare me. We’ve search for, and analyzed, for the presence of dark magic within your body. However, given what we expected to find as opposed to what we _did_ find,” Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened, not liking where this was going even as she suspected as much herself. “-I’m pleased to inform you that the blight of dark magic you ‘obtained’ from the Obtainment Spell is no longer present in your system.” The capra woman looked down upon her, once more rustling her jimmies. “However, that doesn’t make you any less of a threat-”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

The woman frowned, narrowing her eyes, “-because of the taint of the spell’s magic that was taken into your body, that still leaves many questions to be answered. That is where your interrogation comes in,” She waved a hand over Shadow Weaver, eliciting a curious tilt of the witch’s head before a circle pulsed into existence above her. 

It was… unfamiliar, but not illegible to the sorceress. She could tell it was a spell meant to search – like a locator spell – but it contained more complex sigils and components that Shadow Weaver had to admit was a tier of difficulty all on its own. Were they not enemies, the compulsion to question and seek elucidation for such a new and unexplored study magic would have solidified a common ground between them. 

_Such a shame._

“You will tell us how you managed through the barrier of Mystacor. You will explain how you supposedly ‘lost’ this dark magic and-” Tall orders but not impossible, given a chance to theorize. “We’ve received word from the Queen of Brightmoon.” Shadow Weaver’s blood ran cold suddenly, knowing what that could mean. “-It seems the rumors of your demise have been exaggerated. You will tell us how you’re still alive after the reported immolation spell.”

She could feel her heart pounding painfully in her chest, uncertainty and fear infringing upon her being. “Have you told them?” She hissed, teeth clenched tightly as she fought the urge to vomit to the floor in her anxiety.

“That you live? Not currently,” The circle above her faded away, signaling the end of it’s use. “She-Ra deserves time to enjoy their victory. Once we are sure-”

“Don’t tell them.” The command hardly felt like one, hushed and dragged from her throat like a prayer. Even more, “Not yet. Please,” Even Shadow Weaver could scarcely believe her own words, but the feelings that stretched and surged within her; even mysterious and painful as they were couldn’t discounted as anything less than the truth. If they were to learn of the truth - of her alive after their parting so soon - she didn't want to face them with disappointment and hatred in their eyes. To have them believe that this one act was all a lie just to gain sympathy...

The response was not as favorable as she hoped, even with the unintentional nicety. “Save your words. You’ve no place within us to be granted requests,” The capra woman argued, firm and without a smidgen of care, but curiously without contempt. “Perhaps death, if such a thing ever happened, has dulled your sense of reality so let me make it clear to you: No one will allow you free reign _anywhere_ and with good reason. Do you have any idea what decades of your poison has done to Etheria?” 

A part of her knew, too late, but another part was furious. Beyond livid that someone of little to no consequence would dare to speak down to her. Her reaction was reactionary, “You speak as if I am ignorant to my crimes,” Shadow Weaver snarled. “-but if it’s a confession you want. Fine.” From her place on the ground, Shadow Weaver leaned up on her knees but not to her full height, “I nearly destroyed Mystacor, the rebellion and nearly succeeded in thoroughly ruining both of my wards. I do not deny this. _However_ …”

And once more, without realizing it, the unending cycle of spite continued, “Norwyn was a fool and the same can be said _for all of you_. The rebellion was little more than band-aid in grand scheme of the war and what I did for Adora and Catra is and will always be _well beyond_ any scope of comprehension **you** could POSSIBLY possess.” Her shoulders squared, ready and willing to do battle even without dark magic, “I will answer for my crimes against them TO them _when I am ready._.” 

And for a long moment the woman that stood above her with all the air of self-superiority said nothing, contemplative. Then, as if only worthy as afterthought, she made her decision, “We’ve sent word for the Head Sorceress. Until such time that she returns, you will remain anonymous. For the _sake_ of Mystacor.” She turned, their conversation (if it could be considered as such) over and not up for debate. 

Blood still heated from her anger, simmering and defensive, it took Shadow Weaver a solid few seconds to realize that she was being given mercy. She swallowed the caustic justifications with great difficulty before rumbling out, “Thank you.” 

The magician did not accept it, “A risk your ward trying to ‘rescue’ you? Not a chance. Brightmoon will not have you, Shadow Weaver. Not this time,” Shadow Weaver could hear the smug satisfaction in the sorceress voice. She stopped just before the entryway to the Vault, turning around to present the only evidence of a relatable personality, “Mystacor has waited a long time to put you on trial. We’re not giving that up.” 

And with those final words reverberating through the chamber, Shadow Weaver was left once more to her own company. 

For a few moments as she enjoyed the silence that came with solitary confinement, Shadow Weaver was left to contemplate the meaning of mercy. Easing back down to the ground and leaning back against the wall, the sorceress took in a deep breath before releasing it in a long and drawn out exhale. 

_For what reason have I lived?_ She thought to herself, detached and still staggeringly out of touch with reality. While it was suitable to bluff her way to victory, the fact remained – even as she scorned them. She didn’t die. Adora and Catra saved Etheria through her sacrifice and the world was… perfect. 

Except, she remained; an angry festering wound upon the world she’d scarred. 

_Do you even remember why you joined the Horde?_ She thought with a sour expression on her face. In truth, she… struggled for clarity. Dark magic had pervaded her being so thoroughly and for so long that she’d metaphorically crafted herself around it as equally as she’d literally done. She recalled… motivations. 

Killing Hordak.  
Becoming a hero.  
… Adora. 

Painfully, her chest pulled as she yearned to see her child once more – eyes closing tightly as she groaned. To see her once more, now that the world was different and new. She didn’t deserve it; knew that it would only serve to hurt Adora all the same and then… then there was Catra. 

Darkly, as if she were made of shadows, Shadow Weaver curled in on herself to pull her knees to her chest. She pressed her forehead against her knees, seeking solace in her face being hidden as she allowed the tears to escape just as she had just hours before. They were hidden behind her mask, the tears, but Shadow Weaver would never forget the cathartic expulsion as she begged for Catra to leave. 

Her deeds in life, no matter how long, were painfully clear to her. On the eve of her death, she’d thought passably that if she could drink her last hours in ignorance, that would be a satisfying way to go. She’d tried. Being a hero, even the ghost of one, was enough for her… But Catra. 

Complicated Catra. 

She’d always seen the worst of herself in Catra. Self-serving and selfish. Narrow-minded. Power-Hungry. Everything everyone had ever told her and so… it must have been true. Everything about herself she saw in Catra she wanted _nothing_ to do with Adora. Sweet, perfect Adora who could do no wrong…

Adora who ruined everything. 

And yet, still, she couldn’t come to hate her. It was her fault and by that logic-? Catra’s fault. 

But she was wrong and it took far _far_ too long to realize it. 

…  
..  
.

Hours passed in silence, the shades and shadows of the room a taunting reminder of her only-too-recent past that elicited a myriad of emotions. She’d thought to sleep, take advantage of this free-range of motion and dim-lit darkness that she was refused during her stay at Brightmoon. 

But her mind was an ever-constant companion, reminding her that this was the fate she’d deserved in every manner of communication possible. In her dreams – twisted into nightmares. In her memories – motes of light gradually overtaken by shadow as she forgot what it was like to spin light as opposed to weaving shadows. 

And then, of course, there were thoughts of the future.

Would she spend the rest of her days in this prison? Alone? The tactician in her scoffed at the notion, _I can escape at any time._ It was the tired contrition of an old woman with the illusion of freedom that held tightly to her heart. _But then… what next? Where have I to go? I have always had somewhere. Something. Someo-_

The echo footfalls caught her attention once more, dull destroyed eyes looking up from the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold of you to assume I'd never use 'cliff-hanger' tactics hahaha.


	3. In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Castaspella to arrive, Shadow Weaver is left to think long and hard about her living before she discovers the identity of what she could only describe as... as ghost of her past.

Waiting for the presence to make themselves known, Shadow Weaver was almost ashamed of how much she’d hoped it was Castaspella - even more so as it disappointingly turned out to be the capra woman again. She couldn’t quite tell time in this prison, but if she had to hazard a guess, no more than a few hours had to have passed. 

Instead of passing through the door frame, thankfully, the unnamed capra woman made her stand at it’s edge, calling out to her, “Shadow Weaver! Still hiding in the corner?” The taunt in her voice nearly made the sorceress roll her eyes into the back of her head. “Not that you deserve the knowledge, but I felt it was in your best interest to be prepared. We’ve made contact with the Head Sorceress and she has estimated a waiting period of three days.” 

What?! Three days?! She could return to Mystacor in less than half of that time! What a useless woman…

The sound of her disgusted scoff was apparently audible, gaining a dry bout of laughter from the magician, “Impatient? She has duties to the Queen of Brightmoon.Though,” And Shadow Weaver could swear she heard a tinkle of amusement in her voice. “-she might accelerate that process if she knew exactly why we-”

“Don’t bother,” Shadow Weaver drawled, knowing when she was beat and at least able to take her defeat with a modicum of pride. “Though, I wouldn’t mind some… entertainment?”

Even Brightmoon provided her with a book. 

“Certainly. We’ll be spending some time together since I have volunteered for your interrogation.” 

“... Of course.” 

Of course she’d have to sit through another session of useless interrogation tactics. Castaspella was beyond hopeless; Scorpia, at least, managed good conversation in the Fright Zone, as… _saccharin_ as it was. Still, it begged the question:

“Do I get the honor of a name, _Inquisitor_?” 

For a long moment, the woman at the door frame said nothing - as if thinking about whether or not she had a name to give. However, when a cold chill of laughter echoed through the dense and ancient rock, Shadow Weaver felt an otherworldly shock at it’s familiarity. 

“In truth, I was curious when you would ask. I am known as Tanwen.”

_No, it can’t be…_

“In case it isn’t obvious… you killed my father two decades ago, Shadow Weaver.” 

“...And it is revenge you seek?” Shadow Weaver found herself asking, even as her stomach twisted within.

“Justice,” Tanwen corrected matter-of-factly. “Don’t mistake me telling you my name as a clue to some ‘ulterior motive’. That’s _your_ calling card; not mine.” Curiouser and curiouser, Shadow Weaver forced herself to her feet and trudged the distance between the corner she was territorial of to a safe distance from the entrance of the Vault. Though the witch held no power over the darkness of the shadows, Tanwen couldn’t help the sudden drop in the pit of her stomach as she stared face to face with the Demon that haunted her past. 

A forbidden face that elicited the gnaw of confliction that the teachers of Mystacor had warned her of. 

Shadow Weaver looked upon the woman in a new light, the low-lit luminescence of the magic that blocked the door casting an otherworldly glow upon her exposed face. It was like she was looking at a mirror of Norwyn, only… it didn’t hurt as much to gaze upon the fair face that bore back with cold indifference. Her horns curved aggressively upwards to a dangerously tapered tip, her hair fringed to one side and almost covering an eye. She, of course, still walked with an air of righteousness as Norwyn did, but there was a vibration that Shadow Weaver could feel. 

Unspoken hatred. The only alarming incongruity was… to what direction did it aim?

Tanwen narrowed her eyes, that same smoldering darkness that Norwyn had, before making it clear that she wasn’t going to remain. “I’ve _graciously_ given you the news. Dinner will be provided upon the third bell.” 

Shadow Weaver’s warped eyes looked over the rather shapely capra, discreetly sizing her up, “Of course.” 

Tanwen caught the gaze, an eyebrow cocking upwards in a very obvious judgemental stare, before turning away. Shadow Weaver watched her back retreat, her gaze following the figure as it strode with a pride and purpose… in addition to something else that gave the sorceress pause. 

At least Norwyn was capable of creating _something_ attractive…

…  
..  
.

That evening, or what Shadow Weaver would assume was the evening by the second bell, went by as quickly as one imprisoned would imagine. She’d paced, meditated and recounted all 188 runes of enchantment - traced them into the walls enough that she was certain if she’d had access to magic, it would illuminate the cell brighter than even Brightmoon’s prison.

Anything was better than being left to her thoughts; vicious, unreliable whispers that she’d been able to ignore in place of more… constructive ones. How easy it was to ignore the consequences of her actions when she believed it would benefit the whole. 

The very thought that once gave her justified retribution was the same thought that made her appreciate the poetic justice of being imprisoned in Mystacor of all places. 

By the time she’d exhausted her tertiary options of distraction, Shadow Weaver had returned to the darkest corner of the room and slinked against the wall to attempt sleep. Like an incessant throb, pain still radiated through her body and made most movement an inconvenience at best and an agony at worst. Exhaustion was the only ally she had to assist in sleep and felt herself slowly nod off. 

After an unknown amount of time - could have been hours or even minutes - the sound of a familiar 3rd ring reverberated through the stone. 

It was at this time she realized just how starved she was. 

Not long after, the sound of boots against the cobblestone floor were making their way down. Tanwen, carrying a tray of assorted foods from the dinner call, entered the room with the nonchalance of a warrior without a sense of self-preservation. 

She wore it well, unlike Norwyn. 

Seeing her in the typical corner, Tanwen raised a distinct eyebrow, “Is this all you’re going to do? Waste away in a corner like the shadow you are?”

Shadow Weaver’s response was entirely on brand, “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Only if you die before we can sentence you. Don’t take away all of our fun, won’t you?” Tanwen knelt down, placing the tray before the shadowed figure and standing once more. “At dawn’s first moonlight, we will begin your interrogation,” Shadow Weaver could swear she heard the humor in her next words, “Be presentable.”

“Of course. I _always_ bring my ‘best self’,” She snidely remarked, grateful for the briefest of conflicts. It was only unfortunate that, without another word, Tanwen was gone as quickly as she’d arrived and with her… the heat that Shadow Weaver felt when her heart beat within her chest. 

It didn’t beat for much these days unless it was in pain. 

As she ate in silence, minding the fact that the meal was much more lavish than she was used to, her thought once again took flight. 

Remembering the last few moments as if it were a scene she were cursed to reply in Hell:

Telling Adora to stay with the Heart, knowing she would disobey.  
Tell Catra to run while she faced the elemental of Heart down.  
Struggling. Losing. An endless cycle she was growing so weary of… but helpless to the high of some force she’d suppressed for years. 

Then that final few words she’d hope, in the precious few seconds she had, to convey her honesty to her wards… 

It was all she had and yet she knew it would never be enough. 

Her hand stilled in the air, vaguely aware that it was shaking as she was caught in the vivid moments of her last memories and the reality of eating. 

_What else could I say to them? Should I… COULD I ever tell them why I did what I had to do? Would it matter?_ Her thoughts raced, breathing faster and faster until she felt as if she were choking on the very air. _Would they believe me? Is there any point to it all? What reason could I say that wouldn’t-?!_

And then she really was choking, chest heaving and stomach churning with some sickness she couldn’t identify. Tears raced down her cheeks, dropping the utensil she was using with an iron clatter. 

_”Adora… Catra… I-”_

And STILL the words refused her to escape her. Emotion stilled her tongue and forced her back in the dark pit she’d crawled into whenever regret reared its ugly, weak, vulnerable head.

“I-I-I… did… what I _had_ to do…” 

It still felt hollow on her tongue; like a line rehearsed after years of taking the lead role in performance. What did she have to do? Why did she have to do it? When… When did she begin to believe this was the right path?

After what felt like hours, Shadow Weaver was finally able to recognize that she wasn’t hyperventilating anymore - her meal forgotten and cold. She didn’t want it anymore. Staring at the leftovers, Shadow Weaver carefully pushed it away from herself with her foot before easing herself to lay upon the floor along her side. 

She emulated the shadows as best she could, holding herself while bringing her legs up to her chest - even as her muscles protested against the movement. Her clothes were warm enough, if a bit soiled, but there was comfort to be found in the well-worn and earthy stench of the coat. 

Once more, she attempted to sleep.

…  
..  
.

The second day she awoke, still bereft of time, the haze of gradual wakefulness was tempered by various realizations. 

Her food was gone.  
And something more cumbersome was placed upon her. A blanket. 

Looking it over as if it were a subject of study well beyond her scope of understanding, Shadow Weaver struggled in silence before grasping it and holding against her. 

She had a feeling it wasn’t morning quite yet. 

…  
..  
.

The sound of those boots echoing off the floor awoke her, startling her from sleep like an alarm was pulled. Looking around, she made to move her mussed up hair from her face and grimaced at the slick and tangled condition. Once Tanwen - because no one else would dare to visit her - had approached and passed through the doorway, Shadow Weaver was pulling herself into a sitting posture and stretched her arms over her head languidly like a cat. 

Tanwen was quick to notice, “I see you slept well. That’ll be beneficial for you today,” In a fluid motion, the capra woman made a circle and summoned a perfect light-construct of a chair - sitting in a moment later and settling in as if they were there to merely have a chat. 

The second circle, spun so fast that Shadow Weaver almost felt the pain of whiplash, made it clear that it wasn’t to be so - a truth spell passing over her harmlessly as she, too, settled against the wall. 

“Impressive. Not an imperfection in sight with that one,” She complimented with a honeyed tone. “Why aren’t _you_ Head Sorceress?”

“I don’t recall asking for a question from you,” Tanwen playfully diverted, taking immediate satisfaction as Shadow Weaver retorted with nothing else but a noncommittal shrug. It allowed Tanwen to stare just a bit longer into that gaunt and exposed face, tempted to divert the council’s carefully-parsed questions into indulgently-personal ones of her own. 

Maybe one day. 

“To begin; we will test the validity of the truth spell with benchmark questions. Routine, you understand.” 

“You speak as if I’m a 3rd year…” Shadow Weaver deadpanned. 

“Let the record show that I didn’t say it; you did. You began your tenure as a professor at Mystacor under the name ‘Light Spinner’ and chose your own moniker much later,” Defecting from Mystacor after using a forbidden spell and nearly killing your own student. “-What is your given name before Light Spinner?”

The pull of compulsion was immediate, but the Sorceress was ready, closing her eyes, “Renounced.” Telling the truth was hardly an issue when Shadow Weaver had… well and truly forgotten her given name. She recalled renouncing it before she’d ever chosen to pick up a spellbook. 

Tanwen seemed unconcerned, “Noted. Seems to be in working order. You won’t have such an easy time with my next questions I’m afraid.” 

“Mmm, we shall see…” 

It was well into the next hour when the interrogation was called to a close.The consensus of the session barely in Shadow Weaver’s favor as she pressed into the joining of her neck and shoulder in an attempt to massage out a kink with her hand.

Tanwen was getting up, frustrated but satisfied with the interrogation. “You told me absolutely nothing that was useful and somehow told the truth. Color me impressed,” Tanwen coldly congratulated, earning a frighteningly appealing grin from the sorceress. WIthout her mask, and the privacy it afforded both the wearer and gazer, the charm Shadow Weaver was so infamous of was amplified. 

For a woman pushing somewhere in her 70s, supposedly, Shadow Weaver was very easy on the eyes. It was clear this woman was mystified for a reason. 

Dispelling her chair so that Shadow Weaver had nothing to potentially attack her with, Tanwen made her words quick and to the point. “The Head Sorceress will arrive tomorrow morning. Take what time you need to prepare, but make no mistake, Shadow Weaver,” Tanwen narrowed her eyes, “I will be arguing in the defense of your punishment, whatever the council decides.” 

The prompted an inquisitive look from Shadow Weaver, giving a brief pause to turn over her next question before it tumbled from her mouth. 

“And if they desire my death? Will you endorse this as well?” 

She was certain there was a victory to be had by the response she would yet receive, ready to take pleasure in bringing down this self-imposed ‘paragon’ of justice. Surely, she desired-

“No.” 

_... What?_

“You’re joking.” 

“I assure you that I’m not. Your death holds no value to me, not even as a martyr for Etheria’s salvation or an option of revenge,” Tanwen’s words washed over Shadow Weaver like a cresting wave that nearly knocked her off her feet - were she standing. She couldn’t comprehend it. Compute this… strange form of mercy. 

“Why?” The question came, taking her breath with it. 

It was Tanwen’s turn to make the choice to give an explanation or leave it there. For years, she’d held onto the dark fantasies of being better than everyone else. Showing the world what true justice and sacrifice meant. Her father was none of these things; a coward of a man whom desired little more than Academic Sanctuary. He wasn’t what the world needed when it was at war… 

Light Spinner was. 

Turning away from the sorceress, Tanwen offered nothing as she returned the way she came, “Your breakfast will arrive within the hour.” 

She would not be the reason Mystacor falls this night or any after. Under no circumstance. 

Shadow Weaver watched her with growing disappointment in her expression as Tanwen disappeared out of the Vault. If it weren’t so pathetic, she might have been amused by the irony of being left without answers - as she’d done to so many before now. She couldn’t deny the dismal taste in her mouth at being denied something so petty as an answer to a question. 

Shadow Weaver closed her eyes, the flicker of a smile on her lips.

_Perhaps I could be less… cryptic._

A silent longing she didn’t realize existed, flourishing with warmth in her breast… the desire for a future. The thought was painful, biting, and without much warning it extinguished the spark of hope just as quickly as it came. 

The smile dropped, lips parted as they trembled with emotion. 

_... There is no future for me. Not… like before._

No castle halls to walk, teasing the guards with her mere presence.  
No words to exchange with the Queen as she imparted her wisdom to one so much stronger than any whom she’d ever had the pleasure of teaching.  
No garden to tend as she played along with the sweet thought of peace in her mind.

Peace was never an option for the broken and unwilling. 

Fists clenched tightly, shaking as she lifted her head to the ceiling and clenched her eyes and jaw tightly shut. 

Adora and Catra would live on, ignorant of her living. It had to be this way. The future was much too bright for the shadows to hide in anymore.

This was the least she could do... in exchange for her life.

…  
..  
.

It would be late into the afternoon when Castaspella would finally return to the halls of Mystacor. The state of affairs with her niece was flourishing with more hope and clarity than she ever would have expected after the threat of the world being destroyed. The celebrations and constant teasing of Bow and Glimmers impending wedding was well worth the days away from the floating islands. Even the missive she received seemed to feel casual and unrushed - in spite of it’s clear mark of urgency. 

She passed through the halls calmly, the train pulling behind her like a river as she made her way to Tanwen’s office. The letter was confidential, signed by the capra with encouraged discretion. 

A brief knock after she approached and Castaspella entered with a peppy greeting, “Good evening, Tanwen! What is this ‘news’ that you’re keeping cloaked in mystery? Oh, is it a boyfriend?” She teased, watching with mirth in her eyes as Tanwen raised an eyebrow from across her desk 

“... No.” 

Castaspella crossed her arms, easing her hip against the desk, “Well, out with it, then!” 

Tactically, Tanwen paused for a moment to appreciate the Head Sorceress’ disposition before reaching across her desk to collect the report. She handed it off to her, watching the expression on Castaspella’s face as she leaned back and picked up the warm cup of tea. 

She took a sip, watching the ignorantly pleased smile remain for one… two… three…

It dropped, the Sorceress’ eyes widening suddenly before she looked at Tanwen in mortified horror. 

**“SHE’S _ALIVE_?!” ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO! Sorry to make you wait for Castaspella for so long hahahah!


	4. Addicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver and Castaspella have a little talk. It turns into something more, but... what is 'more'?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter as a treat for taking a month to update!! Enjoy!

In her office, as calm as a summer sky, Tanwen watched while sipping at her tea as the Head Sorceress paced back and forth in front of her desk. As expected, she was going on a tirade about a various many things after reading her report on Shadow Weaver’s exaggerated demise. 

“So, you’re telling me that she’s _alive_ after an **immolation spell** and she’s… here?! Why?! HOW?!” In typical Castaspella fashion, her voice, mannerisms and body language were all supremely dramatic. 

“That’s what the report read, yes. The interrogation did not yield those answers,” Tanwen responded in a deadpan manner, eliciting a scrunched up expression from Castaspella. 

“Why didn’t the truth spell work? She has to be lying somehow!” In spite of her incredulous disbelief, there was a measure of relief that Castaspella hadn’t quite come to realize yet.

For three days, after Horde Prime was excised from Hordak, the saviors of Etheria celebrated and worked tirelessly to come up with a plan fix all of the damage and work toward a peace between the once-Horde faction and the rest of Etheria’s kingdoms… in addition to mourning those lost. Not many were able to offer words of endearment or even much of a positive eulogy, but the absence of Shadow Weaver… was felt.

Adora felt as if she’d failed to save everyone. Every moment that was spent trying to discuss going into space was met with an awkward mention of what ‘Shadow Weaver wouldn’t have done’ and the guilt was conversation-breaking...

Catra was bitter and cold when the topic of Shadow Weaver came up - often elusive and unresponsive - but when she didn’t think anything noticed there was a sadness and longing in her gaze as she looked to the broken mask left upon the pedestal placed in the gardens.

Glimmer was so conflicted and, if not for Bow, she would have likely stayed in the gardens for hours just looking at and talking to the mask as if it were Shadow Weaver just listening to her. Castaspella would often listen to her speak of how grateful she was for being patient. Being supportive of her and… guiding her when she didn’t have either of her parents. 

_Glimmer was facing the font of focus in Shadow Weaver's gardens, her broken mask placed within as the alliance had made a memorial for her, ”It… It wasn’t perfect and you irritated me SO MUCH, but… I… it helped, just a little. You weren’t always so bad, I think…”_

And the rest of the Princesses had even offered their own mildly positive interactions with the sorceress - a highlight of the memorial was when Perfuma had told everyone how Shadow Weaver had told her that she was a ‘very accomplished and deceptively strong princess’ for being a flower girl. Everyone laughed and Catra could even be seen smiling when Perfuma told her that she believed Shadow Weaver secretly liked her hugs. 

In their own way, everyone had… missed Shadow Weaver’s presence. In spite of her terrible deeds, and rancorous personality, it was only after she was gone were they able to look at the good memories and cherish them. 

Catra and Adora were the most torn about the sacrifice of their mother figure and Castaspella didn’t blame them in the least.

Across from her, Tanwen narrowed her eyes resentfully, “Are you implying that I performed the truth spell incorrectly?” 

Castaspella flinched, realizing the flaw in her wording, “Not… exactly. This is Shadow Weaver; she could have easily obfuscated it somehow. Perhaps,” She paused, bringing a hand to her chin in thought. “-she wiped her own mind of the knowledge? How else could she have survived?” 

“And how do you explain the loss of dark magic?” Tanwen cooly questioned. In spite of her irritation, she knew that Castaspella was a clever woman and smarter than the council gave her credit for. 

However, at that, the Head Sorceress could only cross her arms, “I couldn’t, but maybe she’s just hiding it? Nothing is beyond her power,” She insisted. 

To that Tanwen had to stop and appraise Castaspella, trying to understand where all of this was coming from. She knew that they had some sort of history together - their family most affected by Light Spinner’s betrayal. However, this was different. Beyond suspicion.

It was almost… reverence. 

“Head Sorceress, have you considered the possibility that you are overestimating her abilities?” Tanwen suggested softly, steepling her hands and resting her chin above them. “Assume, for the moment, that the Truth Spell worked and Shadow Weaver has been honest. She has no knowledge of the why she is alive and how her Dark Magic is gone. What does that leave?” 

Cautiously, but with a deep slow intake of breath, Castaspella did allow the thought and looked away. “If she’s telling the truth that means that she isn’t-” She looked pointedly at Tanwen, “ _as much_ of a threat anymore, and completely out of her element. She’s probably the most confused she’s ever been since… well,” She scoffed, “-probably before I was born.” 

“Let’s not complicate this. Our mission is clear, Head Sorceress,” Tanwen spoke, trying to get Castaspella back on track. Standing from her table, she walked around to stand before her. As usual, Tanwen towered over Castaspella as she spoke to her, “This is our chance to bring Shadow Weaver to justice for the crimes against Mystacor. For casting a forbidden spell. For the death of Norwyn,” She cocked her head to the side, “-for coercing a 3rd year into that spell… We won’t get another chance.” 

Castaspella’s jaw clenched, years of bottled up vengeance seeming to come back to the fore. For every night she cried that Micah wouldn’t play with her, too traumatized by Light Spinner. For the shame and hurt she felt every time she pushed herself to go farther than Micah to be seen and approved of… only to fall staggeringly short. And when Micah was presumed dead for so many years… all of it, in some way, was Shadow Weaver’s fault and the sorceress knew that she couldn’t get over it - no matter how conflicted her feelings were. 

“You’re right,” She closed her eyes, bringing her hands up and releasing a calming exhale. “She must stand trial and face the consequences of her crimes.” 

A brief flash of their time in the forest assaulted her, eliciting a grimace of pain from the sorceress. _Damn you…_

“Then we are in agreement,” Tanwen accepted, bringing a hand up to comfortingly hold Castaspella’s shoulder. “She is secured in the Vault. I’m sure, given her recent demands, that she would no doubt like to speak with you.” 

At that, Castaspella released a sound that suspiciously resembled laughter, “Of course, she’d have some kind of demand. Very well,” With that, Castaspella was gone and out the door before another word could be said. Still leaning against her desk, Tanwen gave a soft hum at what she witnessed. 

…  
..  
.

From within the Vault, not long after Tanwen had departed, Shadow Weaver was hard at work with a small project to keep her mind off the new whispers in the back of her mind. Idle hands and an idle mind were recipes of disaster in her line of work and without any ‘work’ to focus on… she needed a distraction. 

In the midst of scratching out some new formulas that looked concerningly similar to the spell of obtainment, the sound of heels on stone caught Shadow Weaver’s attention. She couldn’t catch the scent through the ward on the vault but she recognized those heels anywhere. _Finally, you useless woman._ Stepping away from the beginnings of a circle on the wall, Shadow Weaver approached the doorway before Castaspella could see her little project. 

And likely put a stop to it. Annoying. 

“How punctual, as usual, Casta… did you enjoy making me wait?” 

With a scoff, Castaspella was in front of the ward but didn’t dare step over the threshold - that same fear she recalled back in Bright Moon clearly prevalent. “If I could have made you wait more, I would have!” She snapped. “How did you return? And, quite frankly, how did you lie through the Truth Spells?”

“Easily. I didn’t. Come now, I’m sure you read the interrogation reports,” Shadow Weaver laughed, crossing her arms as she grinned at Castaspella. “Unless you simply didn’t.” However, instead of being able to enjoy riling up Casta, Shadow Weaver noted a bloom of color along the sorceress’ face. Her grin fell, concerned, “What?” 

“... O-Oh, uh.” Castaspella stumbled over her words, realizing she was staring. It was just… “I recall Adora saying only your mask was… was left behind, but…” Castaspella crossed her arms, giving a groan of annoyance, “I-I didn’t expect to see your face!” 

A rush of emotion overtook Shadow Weaver; guilt, anger, shame and shock all at once had her turn around. She didn’t think anything was going to be left behind, not that she cared about her mask at the time, but to know that Adora held something of hers… she was moved before she could steel herself to the emotions. “Get to the point of your visit, Castaspella.” 

Castaspella released an annoyed sigh before getting right into it, “So you have no idea how you survived the spell; don’t you have even a theory as to how that happened?” She couldn’t believe for a second that Shadow Weaver was in the dark about surviving an apparent suicide attempt, narrowing her eyes as she made it clear just how untrusting she was, “I woldn’t put it past you to fake your death just to get out of facing the consequences of your actons.”

To that, Shadow Weaver would give a cold chortle, “That wouldn’t have been a bad idea, had I thought of it. I couldn’t care less if you believed me, but I will not lie about the truth. I won’t _explain_ myself, either,” She looked over her shoulder, “As for theories, I do have a few.” 

“And they are?” Castaspella prompted, an eyebrow raised. 

“From most likely to least? My loss of dark magic is the cause of my being restored to life. Due to how little knowledge has survived the thousand years since the First Ones - it is possible that practitioners of dark magic are immortals,” She steepled her hands, expression serious, “It is no secret that since the Spell of Obtainment, I have lived a long time. Long have I believed that the demons that reside in me came with a few more benefits than simply leeching magic from around me.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that the dark magic restored you to life but… then you no longer have it within you? That sounds awfully convenient, doesn’t it?” 

“It is simply a theory.” 

“What about Adora’s magic?” Castaspella threw in, recalling the memory of the miracle that she performed. 

“Unlikely,” Shadow Weaver dismissed, waving the possibility away. “Adora was able to bring me from the brink of death but that doesn’t necessarily mean she can bring anyone back from death. If that were possible, then I’m certain she would have been more confident near the end of the battle.” 

Little did Shadow Weaver know that she was the leading cause of Adora’s lack of confidence.

Castaspella huffed, “Well, then what are your other theories?” 

Looking back at Castaspella, Shadow Weaver took a moment before she crossed her arms, “Yes… the next would be that I-” Another hesitation, clear disdain present on her face as Castaspella could swear she thought she saw a flush of embarrassment, “-did the wrong spell.” 

A long moment passed between them before the Head Sorceress let out a sudden sound of disbelief and burst into laughter, “You?! Mess up a spell?! Wouldn’t _that_ be some poetic justice!” Shadow Weaver snarled lowly, contemplating the odds of success in throttling the cackling woman. When she regained her composure to wipe the tears of mirth away, Castaspella would just shake her head, “As amusing as that would be, I highly doubt you would mess something like that up. How ‘sloppy’, would that be?” Castaspella teased, an eyebrow raised playfully. 

_Ah… I remember now,_ To her credit, Shadow Weaver didn’t admonish her for her crude joke and took the back-handed compliment, “Quite. Finally, it might have something to do with the Heart of Etheria itself.” 

In an instant, Castaspella’s smile fell as a rush of ice went through her veins, “What do you mean?”

“Before I took matters into my own hands with the Guardian, I took in a small amount of power from the Heart of Etheria-”

“You didn’t-!” Castaspella barked, feeling as though she had been betrayed personally. Shadow Weaver sent a scathing look Castaspella’s way, a venomous tone to her voice.

“It was out of my control,” She defended, remembering the manner in which her body had immediately begun to respond to the power. It was only through Catra’s cry of pain did she realize what had even happened. “It was only a small amount but I could… could feel it course through me,” She looked down at her hands, shaking in spite of her acute calm. Castaspella noticed this, her expression softening into concern a moment later. “It took everything I had to deny it… to refuse that power. Oh, how the voices whispered the justifications…” 

Uncomfortable, Castaspella stepped forward to place a hand over Shadow Weavers, “And you… didn’t try to take its power?” 

Looking up at Castaspella, her expression visibly torn, Shadow Weaver would exhale a shaky sigh of resignation, “No. Adora and… Catra made me realize the folly of such desires. Though,” Gently, she closed her hand around the offered hand and swallowed, “I think about how that day might have gone differently had I… taken the power. While I might have destroyed the guardian and not had to give me life, would I-” She swallowed, the emotions far too real to face so soon and she stopped throwing Castaspella’s hand aside before stomping away with a disgusted sound. 

For her part, Castaspella didn’t try to call Shadow Weaver back - uncertain how to approach such a personal conflict she had no way to understand. Still, she couldn’t just let their conversation end so quickly and on a sour note. Carefully, Castaspella approached and placed a hand on Shadow Weaver’s back, “That doesn’t matter now,” She spoke firmly, stepping just into the sorceress’ line of sight. A chill ran down her spine at the cold look in Shadow Weaver’s eyes but she didn’t relent, “What matters now is that you resisted trying to take the magic and THAT is what might have saved you.” 

The look of confusion on Shadow Weaver’s face was almost comical, “What are you going on about now?” Her tone sounded as if she were exhausted, a brow raised incredulously. 

“I’m just saying that maybe…” Castaspella smiled nervously, “-karma?” 

“I cannot believe I’m hearing that the Head Sorceress of Mystacor believes in _Karma_ ,” It was fast, the smile on Shadow Weaver’s face, but Castaspella didn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps stranger things have happened…Perhaps,” She resisted the urge to look at her incomplete notes, smirking, “-I always did love a good mystery.” 

Castaspella gave a relieved sigh, stepping away to start walking toward the door, “Now that we’ve established that, the next question should be a little easier,” With a simple rune, Castaspella made a small stool and sat upon it, gesturing calmly, “-Your dark magic.” 

For the next hour, Shadow Weaver and Castaspella went back and forth with possible theories, explanations and… what it could mean for Shadow Weaver in the future if she did not have her dark magic anymore. Was she considered cured? Would the demons feast upon her magic anymore? Did she still possess the ability to leech magic from different mediums? 

“The only proper way to find out is the _test_ these possibilities and the best way to do that-” 

“Absolutely not. There isn’t a SINGLE person that would be a guinea pig for you and I certainly wouldn’t allow it,” Castaspella interrupted, arms crossed resolutely. 

“Come now, it doesn’t _have_ to be a person.”

“NO RUNESTONES!” 

Shadow Weaver chuckled just to spite Castaspella’s ire, highly amused at the thought of the sorceress trying to stop her. 

“Worth the try,” However, with that in mind, Shadow Weaver tried a different tactic, “Release me to find the answers myself.”

“Firstly, **No**. Secondly, where and why _this time_?” 

“Have I not been trustworthy enough to at least be given the benefit of the doubt?” 

“And risk you escaping and possibly causing more harm than good? No. To that end,” Castaspella frowned, “You’re being detained here for a reason, Shadow Weaver.” 

The sigh that came from her was heavy and audible, “Oh yes. ‘Brainwashing’ Micah. He’s _alive_ now, can’t you just ask him yourself?”

“You MURDERED three sorcerers!” Castaspella corrected. 

“Calm yourself, I haven’t forgotten,” Shadow Weaver chuckled, enjoying the distress on Castaspella’s face. “We’ll return to the First One’s ruin the Heart resided in. It would only be for a few days. Afterwards, you can execute me or do whatever it is the council of Mystacor deems necessary,” The casual ease with which Shadow Weaver had suggested a death sentence had the head sorceress freeze in shock. 

“Exec-? I would never approve of the death penalty, you _know_ that!” 

“But does the ‘council’ share that sentiment?” Shadow Weaver gave a shrug with a single shoulder, “You and Tanwen seem to be of the opinion that the mages here wouldn’t like to see me destroyed for my part in the war. To that effect, were the tables turned, The Horde would have had no reservations to send traitors or rebels to Beast Island.”

 _I was certainly no exception._

Castaspella wasn’t persuaded, “The answer is ‘No’, Shadow Weaver. If I ever consider such a request it will likely be under very strict circumstances. We haven’t even discussed how we’re going to announce your return-” 

Shadow Weaver felt her chest constrict painfully, fists clenching tightly at her side.

“There will _be_ no announcement!” She snapped, her voice so harsh and startling that Castaspella flinched away from her violently. Without meaning to, a circle had gathered under her palm - ready to strike at Shadow Weaver. Broken pupils glared down at the circle, ready to respond in whatever manner she could to survive an assault. 

When no attack came and Castaspella relaxed, dispelling the circle, the head sorceress held up her hands placatingly, “If it is possible, then we won’t tell anyone… yet,” The memory of Glimmer’s tears as she cried alone, Bow comforting her as best he could when she was told of the sorceress’ sacrifice had her hesitate. She hated seeing her niece upset EVER and the thought of how many would be relieved to see Shadow Weaver…

Castaspella wanted to tell Shadow Weaver that she was missed. That she was loved in some way and that her death - however untrue as it stood - left an impact on so many. 

But could she do that? Would it matter? Would Shadow Weaver even believe her?

“My decision stands, Shadow Weaver,” She calmly argued. 

For a long moment, the taller woman before her would say nothing before looking away. It was quiet, almost impossible to hear, “Come with me.” 

Where did she hear that before?

At Castaspella’s almost immediate refusal, Shadow Weaver continued, “You can keep an eye on me through whatever means you desire. If I try to escape or harm anyone,” She grinned, an eyebrow raised, “You can ‘strike me down’ as your leisure. I just need a few days to confirm my suspicions-”

It was Castaspella’s turn to give a frustrated groan, “You think I can just leave Mystacor for whatever reason that suits you?! No! Once, twice, and three times - NO!” She stepped in Shadow Weaver’s space, boldly snarling up at her face. “I stayed at Bright Moon because the ‘Queen’ requested it and it was for the sake of Etheria, but I have a duty to Mystacor and I won’t throw that away for you!” 

Shadow Weaver’s expression did not change, schooled carefully into neutrality as she took in the heated words. Ever since their escapade in the forest, Shadow Weaver had hardly seen the sorceress so passionate and aggressive and… if she were honest?

It was endearing. Another reason she could never quite tire of Castaspella’s presence. 

And another reason she was sure that this could work…

Gently, so as not to scare Castaspella or tip her off, Shadow Weaver brought a hand up to the side of Castaspell’s neck, tapered off her claws just barely touching the skin below, “There’s… nothing I can do to convince you?” Her eyes were calm, lids lowering as she slowly eased forward. 

Castaspella’s eyes widened, realizing what this was and attempted to move away from her, only to be thwarted by another arm coming around her waist to keep her in place. Her gaze sharpened, freezing in place, “What. Do you think. You’re doing?” She bit out, trying to ignore the thrill that raced down her spine. 

“What,” Shadow Weaver whispered, continuing to ease closer while moving her arms around the sorceress waist until their fronts were pressed together, “-do you think I’m doing?” And as their faces came closer, only but a few inches away, a sly smile would stretch Shadow Weaver’s scarred lips. 

Nervous and obscenely attracted to this woman, Castaspella stammered, “Wh-Wha - not… nothing good, probably,” She weakly opposed, terrified of Shadow Weaver’s intentions but equally as starved for that same affection they had in the forest a mere week ago. 

A soft chuckle melted her further, Shadow Weaver taking a few steps back until she felt the solid placement of a wall against her, “I’m not always so bad,” She retorted smoothly, the hand at Castaspella’s neck coming up sensually to hold her face, thumb tracing over the sorceress high cheekbones, “I’m bad when I want to be… but then-” She leaned forward, teasingly brushing her lips against Castaspella’s painted ones, still smiling. “-I can be good, too. Very good.”

Castaspella’s brown eyes fell to nearly closed, looking between Shadow Weaver’s lips and eyes as she felt as if her heart would burst through her chest. “Sh-Shadow-” The tremor that surged through the dark sorceress at the shorthand of her name was so jarring that she almost lost her composure.

“Don’t you think so?” Shadow Weaver offered softly, sensing a possible protest, before she finally closed the distance and almost shamefully sighed pleasantly. Castaspella, meanwhile, felt as if she were soaring across the clouds of Mystacor and began to wrap her arms around Shadow Weaver’s middle as they moved so gently against each other. She didn’t need to answer Shadow Weaver’s question. Not verbally, anyway, as she found herself following after the witch’s mouth - even if it led to her pressing impatiently against her. 

The soft and gentle press of lips lasted only a short time, the sweetness of the kiss melting them against each other as they parted just enough to breathe before taking to continue against their best judgement. Stronger, faster - each kiss gained in passion and ardor until Shadow Weaver found herself pleasantly pressed against the wall by a very eager sorceress. 

The hand against Castaspella’s face moved to rake the back of her claws through her hair and into it, moaning into the kiss before suddenly taking a grip of her hair and giving a tug. 

The subsequent gasp allowed her not only to deepen the kiss for her own selfish reasons, and to distract the sorceress from the bit of pain that came from her pulling her head up and sinking her teeth into the soft skin of her neck. All going to plan… perfectly.

Castaspella’s eyebrows knitted in rapture, struggling to came back from the ocean of lust that Shadow Weaver craftily descended her into and panted against the side of her head, “D-Damn your teeth,” She groaned, her hands that scrambled at Shadow Weaver’s back digging in and eliciting an appreciative rumble of pleasure. 

Mercifully, Shadow Weaver pulled away to press a wet kiss against the skin and began a reverent path up Castaspella’s neck and back to her lips to lock their lips together in an obscene make-out session. Without speaking, words unneeded, Shadow Weaver allowed them the moment to just enjoy the intoxicating act of kissing. How she loved the tremble of lips against her own - the taste of jam that she had begun to associate with the paint upon Castaspella’s lips. 

For a long, forbidden moment, the two women just stayed like this - kissing with lips and tongue and forgetting the rules and cruel consequences of the world… until it was Shadow Weaver that had to pull away with a gasp. She pressed against the wall, taking a particular pleasure in seeing Castaspella try to follow only to lack the height with which to do so and smiling with all her teeth at the wonton flush of desire on her face. 

That look of dishevelment… of being so lost in what Shadow Weaver could give her was an addiction that the sorceress knew she was a slave just as much as Castaspella was. She licked her lips, watching as Castaspella followed her tongue with her eyes and - unconsciously - licked her own lips. “Missing me, already, dearest Casta?” Shadow Weaver questioned, so tempted to lower her head and continue and just throw her scheme to the winds just to _ruin_ this woman. 

Thankfully, her teasing tone was enough to bring Castaspella back from the depths of desire long enough for her to scowl appealingly, “You wretched witch…” 

“Ah ah ah,” Shadow Weaver tutted, bringing the hand from Castaspella’s hair to tap a clawed finger against her lips and quiet her, “This… was just a taste of what I can do. For you,” She made it quite clear where her ‘subtle talents’ lay and how she might be useful to the head sorceress. “This can be yours… and more. If you’d just _help me_.” 

To close the deal to what she was sure appealed to the woman, Shadow Weaver brought her knuckles to the caress against Castapella’s cheeks, “Think on it,” Her eyes softened, no longer a personification of her lust and desire, “Please.” 

The conflict was visible, Castaspella’s eyes so expressive as her eyebrows arched upward in compassionate surprise before she closed her mouth firmly into a frown. Carefully, she extracted herself from Shadow Weaver’s arms and brought a hand up to appear as if she were holding her hand… just before pulling it away from her face and letting it drop to Shadow Weaver’s side. 

It was with a finality that Shadow Weaver didn’t expect that Castaspella managed to take a few steadying steps back, “... You know I can’t. Not even for you.” When she opened her eyes, catching sight of the shock that crossed Shadow Weaver’s gaze - seeing it quickly harden into what she could only assume was hurt. “But,” She continued, still coming down from the high even as she was certain that what she was thinking was nothing short of insanity. “I will do what I can to discuss a plan with the council. You… deserve answers. As do we. That is _all_ I can do.” 

To her credit, Shadow Weaver would admit to being impressed by Castaspella’s integrity.

“Thank you. That is all I ask of you,” She warmly conceded, attempting to bring hand up to hold the sorceress’ cheek. 

Only to have Castaspella swiftly and gently grab her wrist, a distrustful look in the sorceress’ eyes that surprised and shocked Shadow Weaver. It almost… hurt. “I don’t need your gratitude and certainly don’t need your insincerity.” She released her hand, pain clear in her eyes as she turned away, “I do this because you deserve answers. You deserve a second chance. You’re alive for a reason, Shadow Weaver…” 

Against the wall, her gaze passing over Castaspella’s turned back, Shadow Weaver contemplated just what was happening right now. In her clenched fist, strands of Castaspella’s hair entwined in her fingers, Shadow Weaver felt herself almost becoming distracted from the goal. 

“... My words still stand, my dear. You have my gratitude all the same.”

“I don’t believe you and, perhaps… I never will. No matter how much I want to,” And Castaspella really did want to believe her. Believe in her capacity to do something selfless and good and not just what was good for herself. It was Shadow Weaver’s own words on that night in the forest that scratched at her resolve.

_”What happened last night is going to stay in that moment. We are, from here on... the same as before… I will risk nothing on the premise of ONE encounter. Enjoy the time we had together, but it stays. There."_

With a deep sigh, Castaspella made her way out of the Vault, “Good night, Shadow Weaver.” 

As Castaspella made her way through the doorway and up the stairs, Shadow Weaver would say nothing - still against the wall and reeling from the encounter. When she finally heard the door shut behind her, a cold smile came to her face. She brought the strands of hair up, looking them over as she thought of the next steps to her escape. 

“Yes. Good night, dearest… and goodbye.”


	5. Bad Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver attempts her escape but has she made a miscalculation?

From the moment Castaspella had left and the room was left to silence, Shadow Weaver was piecing together a plan of escape. The hairs within her hand, foolishly overlooked by the Head Sorceress in a bid to leave with her moral high ground, were the key to dispelling the ward on the door.

Some part of her, the voice vaguely familiar, wanted to believe that Castaspella could truly help her. Convene a meeting and get Shadow Weaver answers… but Mystacor didn’t change, not for the better. Castaspella could only do so much. As to her fate-?

She always took fate into her own hands.

Quickly, so as not to miss this chance, Shadow Weaver turned from the wall she stood against and made the arrangements. First, using the basic mechanics of magical reflection Shadow Weaver had etched a circle in the wall next to her theoretical notes. If this worked, she wouldn’t need to carve away at the stone anymore.

Holding her breath, Shadow Weaver placed the hairs in her palm against the wall and watched as they glowed a soft pale blue before returning to normal. _So far so good,_ Shadow Weaver lamented and turned to the doorway, confident and ready to once again find answers. 

The allure of the unknown, the risk of danger and eventual reap of rewards never failed to make her blood sing with excitement and this moment was no different. As she approached the doorway, raising the hairs to the barrier, Shadow Weaver knew she’d have precious little time before the caster of the barrier would know that something was amiss. 

Without any more delay, she pressed her palm to the barrier - watching with wide, determined eyes as a magical reaction took place in the form of what appeared to be blue sparks of electricity. Patiently, she waited until the reaction finished… only to see the blue sparks ease away and the smell of burnt hair permeate the room. 

Her hand still pressed against a barrier, transparent runes reflecting holographically. 

With eyes wide and at a loss, Shadow Weaver tried to recount her error. 

_If the seal doesn’t respond to the Head Sorcerer or Sorceress, then who would it be tied to? They couldn’t have tied it to nothing!_ Wracking her brain, the answer would come like a shameful cascade:

She was imprisoned by _Tanwen_ of all mages and Castaspella wasn’t AT Mystacor at the time. That meant that the hair she needed was-

“Ugh,” She pressed her forehead to the barrier, groaning in annoyance as the magic pulsated harmlessly. She precious little time to come up with a plan, given the nature of whom she was going to be dealing with in likely a matter of moments. _Complicated but not impossible to deal with. I need that hair and the one it belongs to it likely on her way._ With a smirk, Shadow Weaver stepped away from the barrier and steepled her fingers in front of her as she forged a plan. _I will get that hair. It will just take a… ‘smooth’ transition from her head to my hand to make it happen._

In a sudden motion at the top of the Vault’s stairs, the sound of a door would slam open and against the adjacent wall so loud and violently that the smirk fell almost instantly from her face. Solid, purposeful, stomps echoed down the stairs until the figure of Tanwen could be seen as she approached the barrier. Her dark eyes smoldered with aggression as she bore into Shadow Weaver’s across from hers. 

_This… might be more difficult than I anticipated._

“Four days. That’s how long it took for you to attempt an escape,” Tanwen stated, her tone holding no amusement or even a clue as to what she might imply by that. “Immediately after meeting with the Head Sorceress, no less. If you couldn’t tell… I’m _hardly_ surprised, Shadow Weaver.” 

To that, the sorceress could only gesture passively, “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you could be going on about. Is it a crime to test my bindings?” Settling back into the saccharine-sweet words felt right; as if putting on a dress that made you feel like you again. 

Tanwen took another few steps forward, passing through the barrier, until she was almost right in her face. Boldly in her personal space and confident in her ability to suppress the sorceress. And Shadow Weaver had no doubt that she could take her in a fight; outfitted in battlemage armor and buzzing with… delicious magic… 

Oh. Oh yes, that could work. They didn’t need to fight at _all_. 

“You think I don’t know what happened? That I don’t know what it takes to remove my own spell?” Her words were hissed, barely permeating the room as she spoke. “But it didn’t work because the hair on the Head Sorceress’ head didn’t belong to the spellcaster. Additionally,” Shadow Weaver gave a grunt, a hand tightly bunching under her collar as she was pulled impossibly closer. “I have an idea how you managed to get that hair. A red face? Smudged lipstick? And on your face, no less?” Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened, realizing the foolish oversight just a second too late. 

Tanwen grinned, the visage a jarring difference from her indifferent one, “Imagine my laughter when you didn’t even _hesitate_ to escape. Just as I expected you would-”

Shadow Weaver scoffed, feeling the familiar heat of rage bubble beneath her skin, “You’re just a lonely little girl playing detective, aren’t you?” Face to face, their breath mixing and lips almost touching - Shadow Weaver wasn’t going to let her emotions interfere with her plan. “But you did it. You captured the ‘great and powerful Shadow Weaver’ - something not even the Head Sorceress could do and now…” She grinned back, fangs bared in Tanwen’s face, “You’re not going to let me go, are you?” 

Calculatingly, she brought one of her hands up, ghosting the claws of her fingers against Tanwen’s hip and noting the way her skin twitched beneath. 

To her credit, Tanwen didn’t react, “The council was right about you. In spite of your ability to control a room, you _do_ make miscalculations…” She raised her chin, saying nothing for a long moment as if to size up Shadow Weaver before releasing her completely. Although she was quick to catch herself, Shadow Weaver cursed the manner in which she stumbled back.

“It’s a good thing your trial is set for tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Looking up at Tanwen, Shadow Weaver felt her heart skip a beat - the door of opportunity on her escape closing rapidly. “What?”

“Tomorrow, you will be tried for your crimes against Mystacor. That doesn’t mean you’ll be tried against all of Etheria, however, given that requires the Queen of Bright Moon’s presence,” She narrowed her eyes, “-and it’s unanimously agreed that she would only interfere with the process. She’s young. Brash. Easy manipulated and exactly why we’re taking advantage of this opportunity now.”

A wave of protective anger washed over her, the word spilling without filter, “You know NOTHING about Glimmer and her potential! Oppose the Queen for all I care, but don’t you DARE insult Glimmer’s ability to lead!” Her hands clenched tightly at her side, hair beginning to float in the wake of her emotional tie to her magic - even as it struggled and stuttered. 

Tanwen’s face revealed nothing, looking down upon Shadow Weaver as she internally took stock of the reaction she was given. What was her connection to the Queen? Had she grown attached? Were her claws so deeply rooted in the royal family that she was possessive of her source of power?

Silently, she ground her teeth at the thought.

Meanwhile, Shadow Weaver could feel the threads of her plan unwinding and relaxed as best she could; her hair falling back down and her eyes softening from the bright gold. Outward, she appeared to relent and give in but on the inside she was boiling like a tea kettle. 

She couldn’t give up on this chance. “Forgive me, I… I am tired and-... and lonely.” Without looking away, Shadow Weaver allowed her face to fall into what she hoped would appear to be weariness. “Can you imagine dying, Tanwen? It’s not pleasant.” 

“I never imagined it would be,” Tanwen returned, turning away from Shadow Weaver to begin a slow walk around her. “Loneliness isn’t an excuse for trying to escape.” 

Shadow Weaver followed her with her eyes, maintaining her slouched posture, “Isn’t it? Say I didn’t deny it. That I desired to leave and take advantage of my… ‘second chance at life’?” 

“What makes you worthy of this second chance?” Tanwen retorted, tone indifferent once more. “Do you think you’re above taking responsibility for the crimes you committed? Taking the lives of three mages that didn’t even possess bodies to be returned to their family?”

From behind her, Shadow Weaver could feel Tanwen stop - a chill running down her spine at having her back to the enemy. “I won’t apologize for defending myself.” 

“It was murder. Regardless,” Shadow Weaver turned her head, glaring up at Tanwen as she looked down on her. “You will be present for your trial.” 

_The hell I will,_ Taking her chance, the sorceress switched tactics and stood at her full height. She took a few careful steps forward before raising her hands up to sensually slide her fingertips along her hips. The speed with which Tanwen narrowed her eyes had Shadow Weaver prepared for a retaliation but… curiously it didn’t come, even as she pressed herself against the armored sorceress. 

“Very well, but allow me just… a moment of solace. Without my magic, I find myself-” As she spoke, easing one of her hands up the small of Tanwen’s back, she’d give it a calculating scratch along an unarmored section. “-disengaged. Without purpose.” 

She injected truth with masterful precision, allowing the very real emotion to choke her voice as she pressed her head against the woman’s chest, “I feel lost.” Without practice to school her expression, she needed to hide her face. In spite of her intent to manipulate Tanwen, she couldn’t deny a sense of safety while embracing her. 

Further surprising her as she used one hand to thumb at the jut of Tanwen’s hip, the slow encapsulation of Tanwen’s arms around her sent alarm bells going off in her mind - signalling that something was wrong but she didn’t bolt away. Not in time. The shift of armor beneath her belied the eerie calm of Tanwen’s voice as she spoke against her head, eliciting a nervous swallow from Shadow Weaver.

“Do not think me above compassion, Shadow Weaver,” Tanwen’s voice washed over her, feeling those arms closer tighter around her shoulders. “Your… sacrifice at the Heart of Etheria was a noble one but understand that it does not absolve you of your crimes,” Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened, the path her hand was traveling stuttering in its tracks. “I can’t imagine the pain the Spell of Obtainment has put you through…” 

Sensing something was amiss with the woman’s contrite words, Shadow Weaver’s hand suddenly moved up into Tanwen’s hair - just as a painful cry was ripped from her, the electric shocks of a spell burning through her body from her back. With a groan as her body violently trembled, her claws still gripping the short strands of Tanwen’s hair but the satyr-like woman seeming to be unaffected, Shadow Weaver would soon find herself unable to move and feel the world spin around her as she fell backwards-

Only for a strong set of arms to catch her, holding her deceptively gentle as Tanwen spoke, “I am sorry it came to this… but justice will not be denied while I stand watch at Mystacor.” Still very agonizingly paralyzed, Shadow Weave could feel herself being shifted to be carried to the far wall that Tanwen had noticed her staying. As she was laid against the wall with a sense of care she wouldn’t have expected, she could see Tanwen looking up to notice the carved scrawls. 

“D-Damn you,” Shadow Weaver hissed, trying to struggle against the spell but unable to feel the reaction of her body. She couldn’t even move her head to look directly into Tanwen’s face, forced to suffer glaring at her from an angle with her cheek facing the wall. “Release me… from this spell-!” 

“I can’t do that, especially seeing as you’ve already begun your… scheming,” Tanwen raised a hand, passing the palm over the equations and geometric shapes. Although the moment was brief, Tanwen could see that the incomplete notes were related to some sort of counter spell to what appeared to be the Spell of Obtainment. _What could you be planning?_ She turned to the unmoving sorceress and knelt down to one knee. 

She brought a hand to Shadow Weaver’s chin, tilting her to look directly in her face, “You made your choice. I have made mine. When the trial ends, whatever the outcome, I will make certain that no harm comes to you,” She moved her hand to Shadow Weaver’s cheek, a mimicry of the gesture the sorceress had used on so many in her life, and gently caressed over her high cheekbone. “I don’t hate you. I’ve even come to respect you, Shadow Weaver. Make no mistake, however,” She removed her hand, watching as the sorceress face rolled off to the side listlessly.

“I will make certain you are unable to harm anyone else for a long, long time…” Before standing and turning away to leave Shadow Weaver in the darkness of Vault - unable to even change her sleeping posture. 

For a long moment, Shadow Weaver struggled - looking down at her legs as she begged her willpower to give her at least SOME semblance of hope that she could fight against the spell. However, when it felt as if she were about to pass out from the strain, she released an audible growl of frustration gasping angrily as she tried to relax her muscles. 

_I swear on all the magic in Etheria that I make you regret this! Whatever it takes, damn it!”_ She threatened to herself, closing her eyes as a wave of helplessness washed over her. 

In one fluid motion, both of her experiences in prison were a far cry from indiginities of the Vault and she hated it with all of her being. Freedom, so close at hand, was now nothing more than a dream made nightmare and the only thing she got out of it…?

A shade of affection from the only two sorcerers she’d had contact with, and she was certain that the physical engagements were the last she’d ever receive. Thoughts of what kind of punishment she would receive rattled around in her head. The trial was a _formality_ at best and one she knew none believed she deserved. 

Would she be imprisoned for the rest of her days?  
Permanently silenced?  
Forced to parade Mystacor as a servant/slave?

The possibilities were endless and daunting and before she knew it, the feel of tears rolling down her cheeks had come uncontrolled. She fought the tightness in her throat, the pain in her chest, until it was just too much to hold back. Ragged, fractured sobs vibrating through her - ironically the only other movement allowed being the rise and fall of her trembling chest. 

Self-hatred buried behind the satisfaction of lording power over others.  
Fear of failure always compounded by her lack of self-control.

How she hated everyone for being born with magic while she had to scratch out an existence among the upper echelon of the ancestral families! How easy it was for THEM to attain power and be thought of as HEROES for it! 

Why was she never praised as a hero for her efforts on crystallized magic?  
Why was her every motive and desire to save the world always questioned?

Why? Why?! WHY?!

_Why was I… never good enough?_

The shadows were always her ally; her only sanctuary in the darkness.

Sleep evaded her for hours, distracted and terrified by the shadows on the wall she didn’t recognize...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on, my lovelies, because the angst and suspense ISN'T over yet!!


	6. Watching as I Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver's trial as well as can be expected.   
> Until the brutally unexpected happens.

Whether it was an hour or several, the morning with which her trial came had her wake with a ragged gasp - bolting upright against the wall and immediately regretting her sudden movement as pain ripped through her body from disuse. It was a moment later that she realized the paralyzing spell was gone, followed soon after by the sound of boots against the stone of the stairs coming down. 

The rage and pain of her previous emotions returned four fold as Tanwen stepped into her ‘enclosure’ and almost immediately, Shadow Weaver desired to leap from the ground and hurl spells upon the woman. 

Aside from how foolish it would have been, the tension and exhaustion stayed her hand and had her riposte Tanwen’s presence with biting words instead, “Here to corral your prisoner to her fate? What an ‘honor’ that must be for the one you ‘ _respect_ ,” She spat the word. 

Out of indifference that seemed to be Tanwen’s brand or choosing not to care, the armored woman didn’t react as she approached and knelt before Shadow Weaver, “I am here to prepare you for the trial. To that end, you are required to work with me as we make you presentable.” 

Shadow Weaver scoffed, leaning against the wall, “And if I refuse? Just lazy about like ragdoll for you?” 

“It will be up to you if you desire to be clothed during the trial.” 

In spite of her boiling hatred, Shadow Weaver grinned, “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?” 

“I assure you,” Tanwen droned, “-it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” And the laughter that bubbled from Shadow Weaver was almost painful, pulling at muscles in her chest that she was sure hadn’t been stretched in some time. “Enough. Let us begin,” Before Shadow Weaver noticed her arm being reached for. 

On instinct, she kept herself from reach, “Get away from me,” She hissed feebly, only for her wrist to be taken in a sure but gentle grip. “What are you doing?” She snarled, raising her other hand and baring her claws threateningly. 

“Your body has been left in languish for over eight hours by my spell. In order for you to walk with pride to your trial,” Raising her other hand, Tanwen placed it carefully against Shadow Weaver’s opposite shoulder and gently pulled the wrist to outstretch the arm. The subsequent groan that came from the woman made her sound much older than she looked. “- I am taking responsibility for your physical therapy.” As Shadow Weaver snarled at the pain, Tanwen would look pointedly in her eyes, “You’re strong. This pain will not last in your condition.” 

“How very - Ngh! - _kind_ of you…” 

For the next half hour, Shadow Weaver was put through a most humiliating session of assisted stretches she’d ever had the misfortune of participating in and briefly remembered how much more appealing Perfuma’s meditations were at this moment. When it was all finally finished, Shadow Weaver would be left to lean against a wall to catch her breath and regain her strength. Tanwen, meanwhile, would leave briefly and return with a familiar set of clothes that had Shadow Weaver immediately shake her head.

“Absolutely not. I will sooner attend my trial nude and take the consequences.”

“It is your effects from when you taught here as Light Spinner and the same effects that you left our academy.” 

“Then you admit that you desire me to look as _incriminating_ as possible?” Shadow Weaver laughed, earning a confused look from Tanwen. It was the first expression that didn’t paint the woman as an emotionless husk of ‘justice’ and the sorceress capitalized on it. “I have a right to appear at my trial in whatever appearance I deem ideal for my case. Whether you believe it to be wise or not - I will present myself ‘as is’ for the purpose of transparency. To stand before the council and… potentially past students I had taught in the past as ‘Light Spinner’,” She spoke her past name with disgust. “- is to evoke the pain of that very day.”

She stood from the wall, taking a few shaky steps toward Tanwen before stopping just inches from her, “I will stand my ground as ‘Shadow Weaver’ or not at all.” And as stated, remained steadfast in front of Tanwen as she challenged the battlemage in a silent tug-of-war. 

For a long moment, as if thinking, Tanwen said nothing before closing her eyes and turning away. “Very well. You will require bathing, however-”

“What part of ‘As is’ do you not understand?” Shadow Weaver chuckled, taking her victory. 

“We’re going to ‘break tradition’ and be flexible,” Tanwen slipped in, eliciting a surprised expression from Shadow Weaver before she scoffed with laughter. 

“You have jokes. At my expense. How shocking.” 

“I live to please,” Tanwen accepted cooly before raising a hand and snapping her fingers. Like glass, the barrier on the doorway broke away and disappeared in quickly fading motes of light before Tanwen gestured for Shadow Weaver to follow. Her heart beat faster in her chest at the barrier she’d struggled with just yesterday, now gone and freedom possible once more… but the expectant look from Tanwen brought her back to reality. 

She followed, struggling a bit up the stairs but managing enough to at least get out the door of the Vault and into the very blinding outside world of Etheria - giving a grimace as her eyes adjusted. The moment she caught sight of someone other than Tanwen or Castaspella, however, she felt a tightening in her chest at her face being exposed and lurched back, bringing a hand to her face with a snarl. 

Tanwen, beside her as she witnessed the reaction, asked simply, “Do you plan to shy away from every mage in Mystacor? I have made it clear to all affected that you do not possess your mask any longer.” 

Glaring between her fingers, Shadow Weaver wisely said nothing before dismissively gesturing for Tanwen to lead on. While she did not remove her hand from her face, Shadow Weaver did not make any further attempt to hide herself as she was led to the humid air of the Steam Grotto. Once inside, Shadow Weaver would turn and give Tanwen an expectant look that spoke easily of her intentions to bathe alone. 

The horned woman just crossed her arms and dipped her chin upwards. 

_What did I even expect?_

With the speed of a plumerian turtle, Shadow Weaver cast away her robes and rebelliously skinny dipped in one of the closest pools - taking great pleasure in the bite and burn of the water. She took notice of the spell Tanwen had cast upon her clothes and raised a brow at the sigils, _Cleaning my robes? Why expend the energy?_ But, none the less, as she stepped from water some time later - feeling sufficiently clean - Shadow Weaver approached her clothes before mumbling out a ‘thank you’.

Dressing was quick, calculated and for once - Shadow Weaver was grateful of Tanwen’s typical expression of indifference. 

Once again, she was led untouched in what she assumed was the antechamber where the lenses of Mystacor were housed. However, as she was led past said room, Shadow Weaver realized where they were going: The Chamber of Voice. 

Ill-used since her time, Shadow Weaver realized just how little conflict Mystacor had faced until after she’d defected. In a sense… Shadow Weaver believed that her decision was justified. They were more organized, now. Stronger, since her attack. If only the taste of that opinion didn’t feel so childish and foolish in her mouth...

Tanwen stopped before the double doors and turned to Shadow Weaver - the battle mage flanked on both sides by equally armed mages that Shadow Weaver had never seen before. “From this point forward, your magic will be temporarily sealed and truth spells dispensed. Should you struggle or attempt any retaliation, you will be subdued immediately.”

Shadow Weaver grinned, narrowing her eyes, “Not with deadly force? My, how Mystacor has elevated itself into the truly self-righteous.” 

“You’re welcome,” Tanwen joked dryly, earning a couple looks of confusion from her fellow mages before raising her hands. SIlently, they followed suit and Shadow Weaver would find her wrists bound by ephemeral chains but the manner in which her magic was bound had her slightly light-headed. Next were the truth spells, three in succession, as Shadow Weaver had to fight the will to not just bather about nonsense.

With a low growl, she was flanked by the two unnamed mages before being grasped by her upper arms. Tanwen led the way, opening the double doors and down to the center of the room before she was sat down in an enchanted chair. She grimaced at the manner in which it glowed, heat at her back, and knew for a fact what would happen should she stand without permission. 

She’d had a similar chair back in the Fright Zone.

“Council of Mystacor.” Tanwen’s voice carried through the chamber as Shadow Weaver took in the faces. Castaspella, in the middle of the line of High Mages, was easily recognizable and Shadow Weaver wanted to laugh at the look of concern on her face. “Today, the sorceress once known as Light Spinner and now referred to as Shadow Weaver is brought before you today after the collective decision to bring justice to many lives affected by her actions nearly twenty years ago. Her magic is temporarily sealed and truth spells have been administered trice over. The trial of Shadow Weaver versus the Victims of Mystacor shall now begin.” 

The brief silence that stretched on longer than normal had the sorceress wonder just how terribly this hearing would go. 

When it was Castaspella who stuttered and stood from her seat, obviously missing her cue, Shadow Weaver had to resist the urge to drop her head into her chained hands. “T-To begin, we will recount the current allegations against you, Shadow Weaver! The first charge that we will begin with is Murder. Shadow Weaver,” Castaspella finished, “How do you plead to these charges?”

Her response was fluid, surecasted and just as controversial as she expected, “Not Guilty.” 

A cacophony of voices roared with disdain, to which Castaspella quickly yelled to order. “ENOUGH! Shadow Weaver, you will explain your answer.” 

“I was attacked after attempting the Spell of Obtainment with a willing party. I defended myself.”

Voices rose to defend.

“Master Norwyn’s body was reported to be ‘swallowed up’ by darkness, followed quickly with your stating that the ‘spell worked’! This presents itself as premeditated murder!”  
“You killed two other sorcerers alongside Norwyn!”  
“The spell is evidence enough of your greed and evil!”

“Order! We will allow Shadow Weaver to speak!”

Once the voices had calmed, judging eyes upon her even as their tongues remained still, Shadow Weaver continued. “I dispute the witnesses statement. My intention was to defend myself and Norwyn intended to kill me, along with his head mages,” Her gaze sharpened at Castaspella’s, her next words sure to cause more chaos, “Once again, I can only claim that it was self-defense. I have no evidence to prove that their spells were lethal.”

More voices clamored for a chance to dispute her claim, yet with a look they were all silenced for the moment by Castaspella. She turned on Shadow Weaver, saying what she was sure was on their minds. “While it is recorded that you plead Not Guilty, your dispute is unsubstantiated. Micah was of sound body and mind to give a witness statement. Additionally,” Castaspella growled, her gaze roving over the council. “I remind the council that Shadow Weaver is under THREE truth spells and lacks any ability to speak falsely.” 

“ I am actually struggling not to speak at all.” 

“Do not speak out of turn, Shadow Weaver.”

“Yes… Head Sorceress.” 

They both struggled not to react to the other’s responses.

While the trial continued on in a manner similar to the first charge, the next accusations covering the crimes of ‘desertion’, ‘illegal use of forbidden magic’, and ‘conspiring with a minor’, Shadow Weaver felt confident that she’d made her trial as confusing, frustrating and infuriating as possible for the council. 

However, as the trial went on, something seemed… amiss. Out of place. Quite a few times she’d noticed an odd expression of satisfaction and amusement on some of the members present and it sent a cold chill down her spine. It wasn’t until after the final charge was brought to light that the sorceress realized she was being strung along and her worst case scenario was becoming reality.

“The final charge brought against you, Shadow Weaver, is the illicit alchemical processing and possession of lunar crystals - a crime of which you have committed to this day by many witnesses. How do you plead?” 

“I am guilty,” Shadow Weaver spoke, far too compelled to refuse.

“Very well. Based on these allegations and your responses, we will-” Before Castapella could call for a recess to discuss and hopefully push the hours long event off onto tomorrow, an older woman interrupted. 

“The sentence-” She began, standing, “-has already been agreed upon by the Reverent Majority.” Their words cut through the crowd like a knife, though Shadow Weaver knew why so many were confident and silent. Yes… the _Reverent Majority_ was an old and backhanded card that none had used since… well, before she was ever born. 

No surprise when Castaspella balked and sputtered, “The WHAT? We are not _sentencing_ her until the council had reviewed the trial in its entirety and debated the next course of action. I’ve never even HEARD of the ‘Reverent Majority’ before today!”

“With all due respect, Head Sorceress, that is negligence on your part. Perhaps you should recollect on your own time to reassess the powers of your position,” And in spite of her dire position, Shadow Weaver felt the bubble of laughter come and go, the only evidence of her mirth being a choking sound she hoped sounded like coughing. 

“I beg your fucking pardon,” Castaspella hissed, ignoring the looks she received and Shadow Weaver’s poorly hidden reaction.

“Pardon granted. Now,” Ignoring Castaspella’s aggressive sputter, the sassy older mage continued, “Shadow Weaver: with the overwhelming evidence against you and the lack of compelling resistance that is sufficient to continue this hearing-” 

In her mind, Shadow Weaver translated it all, _’Because we don’t give a damn about what you say, we’re ignoring the proceeding and just going straight to punishing you.’ And they say I’M unfair and unjust…”_

“-You are hereby sentenced to the ‘Trial of Tranquility’ with the use of your magic… silenced indefinitely.”

In spite of knowing that the punishment was likely going to be severe, Shadow Weaver couldn’t stop herself from staring at the old woman as she finished speaking. _… Silenced? Permanently?!_ She’d heard of the ‘Trial of Tranquility’ but it was as equally forbidden as the Spell of Obtainment was. It was experimental, unethical and for someone who had interrogated and tortured rebels for years… even Shadow Weaver knew that there were more humane ways to punish criminals like her.

Castaspella seemed to agree, in her own way, “ **ABSOLUTELY NOT!** This trial has become out of order and I WILL terminate the case right now-!”

“Peace, Head Sorceress,” The older woman would say calmly, tranquil in the face of Castaspella’s ire even as she interrupted her. “Remember where you are and the breadth of your reach or you may find yourself at a loss. The extent of Shadow Weaver’s crimes extended beyond your time as a mage and thus require an unbiased party to firmly bring justice to her overdue crimes.” 

“With all due respect!” Castaspella argued, only mildly intimidated by the fact that her ‘reach of power’ was being so blatantly challenged. “The Trial of Tranquility is not a humane manner in which to punish _anyone_ , much less Shadow Weaver!” She gestured to the woman below, unable to see the shocked and silent face of fear on her features as Shadow Weaver stared at the floor. “We can keep her magic sealed and recast it daily, but to sever her connection to it with no safe method to return it could _kill_ her or worse-!”

“The method has been tested enough and found to be an acceptable sentence for one whom has hardly been the paragon of ‘humane treatment’. She has murdered, maimed, manipulated and been the direct cause of many losses in Etheria. Including, but not limited to, the near destruction of Etheria itself.” 

Were Shadow Weaver able to speak, shell shocked as she was, the sorceress would have stopped at nothing to defend her actions that Etheria had ALWAYS been in her best interests. Alas, Castaspella was her only lifeline at the moment and it seemed that even she possessed little power to the traitorous council. 

With every arguing declaration, Castaspella slammed a fist into the table in front of her, the members beside her looking on in shock, “I was THERE when she was trying to help the rebellion defeat Horde Prime! In the wake of giving her life to save not only SHE-RA, Shadow Weaver was integral to finding where the Crystal of Arxia was while ALL OF YOU were captured by Prime! We are **better than this!** ” 

“We of the Majority acknowledge Shadow Weaver’s apparent sacrifice to save Etheria, but the sentence shall stand. To that effect, she will be granted sanctuary to reside upon Mystacor and live out her sentence in peace and prosperity,” All at once, the members of the apparent ‘Reverent Majority’ all stood from their seats. “Before the condition of your stay is presented to you… Tanwen.”

Silent through much of the trial, the foreboding figure of Tanwen would step forward until she was beside Shadow Weaver. 

“The council of Mystacor recognizes you as the last descendent of the late Norwyn taken from Mystacor twenty years ago. Therefore, by the creed of justice, you are hereby requested to perform the Trial of Tranquility,” Once more, rare as it was, Tanwen’s eyes widened and she quickly turned to look at Shadow Weaver with a conflicted expression. 

In response, Shadow Weaver looked at Tanwen - fear still present in her eyes - before she swallowed thickly and tightened her jaw. The impact of her words spoken only hours ago echoed between them.

> _’When the trial ends, whatever the outcome, I will make certain that no harm comes to you…’_

Between them, Tanwen and Shadow Weaver shared a heartbeat and a half together before the satyr-like woman clenched her fists at her side. Her response was low, more indifferent than normal, “As the Council wishes.” And Tanwen could swear that her footsteps weighed more than double their measure as she carefully stepped in front of Shadow Weaver.

Above, eyes wide with terror, Castaspella frantically moved away from her seat - only for two battlemages to quickly stand in her way protectively. Whether it was for her protection or Tanwen’s was up for debate, but it was clear by the staves that they held at the ready that not even her role as Head Sorcerer would protect Castaspella from their retaliation.

Raising her arms, Tanwen made certain to waste no effort in casting the spell perfectly - the sigils and lines drawn so immaculately that were Shadow Weaver not on the other end of the spell… she would have felt no shame in complementing Tanwen’s workmanship. 

Still, her heart pounded in her chest like the drums of war, tongue dry and heavy in her mouth as the reality of what magical power she had left after the loss of Dark Magic… was going to be sealed away forever. 

And still, as the circles were crafted, the echo of the eldest ‘Majority’ continued to speak, “While on Mystacor, Shadow Weaver, you will NOT be permitted the following,” She could feel the burden of the words as if a god were assigning divine punishment.

“Tomes, books, notes and writings of any arcane or magical nature are prohibited from your use.” 

Tanwen’s hand hover over Shadow Weaver’s left hand, palm moving toward Tanwen’s as if magnetically attracted, and she hissed as a burn began in the palm of her hand. In spite of the pain, nothing could compare to the decree.

“Under no circumstance will be allowed to educate, advise or have any contact with the students of this Kingdom.”

Her other palm was raised, biting her lip to stifle the whimper of pain as yet another sigil was burned into the skin of her palm. Her hands trembled violently, a different kind of pain settling over her hands and creeping steadily up her arms as if pins and needles stabbed at her all over. 

“You are prohibited from any Botany, including that which allows any access to magical flora.” 

Gasping as the sensation of the burning neuropathy continued its course, Shadow Weaver gnashed her teeth as she leaned her head back - instinctively trying to escape the tortuous sensations. However, she could see Tanwen reach for her face and snarled, only for her chin to be taken firmly by Tanwen’s hand. 

“Finally, as you make reparations for your crimes, Shadow Weaver-”

Paralyzed by fear and the enchantments of the chair that restricted her movements, Shadow Weaver watched Tanwen’s opposite hand come up and create another sigil - her very tongue pulled from her mouth. Truly, it felt as if the expectation of pain made the burning on her tongue a hundred times worse.

“Until such time that we believe you are deemed safe and worthy of being allowed back into the world of Etheria… you are prohibited from ever leaving Mystacor. Be that a decade from now or until the day you pass naturally.” 

An agonized, pained roar echoed through the Chamber of Voice - members of ‘Reverent Majority’ looking on with pleased or neutral faces while other members struggled to watch the last Tranquil sigil being burnt on Shadow Weaver’s tongue. 

Castaspella, sparks of spellcast at her fingers but unable to move lest she face the overwhelming force of the battle mages, watched on with tears gathering in her eyes. _This is horrifying!! S-Since when did we become so… so terrible?!_ She thought as her stomach churned with disgust. 

When at last the sigil was placed and Tanwen lowered her arms, Shadow Weaver felt an instant relief as her head fell down to her chest with the release of tension. Breathing through her mouth as her tongue burned with the seal, she could feel hot tears roll down her cheeks and couldn’t describe what she was feeling throughout her body beyond a paralyzing and deeply seated pain in her bones and beneath her skin. 

Tanwen, staring at the heavily breathing form of Shadow Weaver, could feel the itch of tears at her eyes but blinked them away just in time for the speaker to finish. “With that, the trial of Shadow Weaver versus The Victims of Mystacor has ended. Thank you all for your attendance,” and as if she were the Head of Mystacor, the sassy old woman was the first to leave - others soon joining her to hastily retreat. 

The battlemages stood down, allowing Castaspella to pass and rush down to the lower levels, “Shadow Weaver!” And just as she would reach her, a muscular arm would come down and block her attempt to touch the bound sorceress. Castaspella balked, looking up at Tanwen as the latter stared impassively at her. However, Castaspella was only shocked for a moment, moving into Tanwen’s face to bark, “Move!” 

“My duty is not over yet,” Tanwen states, ignoring Castaspella’s demands. “Shadow Weaver needs time to recover and must be shown to her quarters.” 

“‘Time to-’ She’s _silenced_ , you ignoramus! There IS no recovering from this!” Castaspella roared, barely stumbling over her words at the audacity of this woman. “This spell never had a **single** successful human trial and everyone that was ‘recompensed’ for their ‘condition’ never regained their access to magic!” She hissed, hating how very little the mage reacted, _”Ever.”_

Still, despite knowing the truth, Tanwen remained undeterred, “Shadow Weaver isn’t a voluntary test patient, Head Sorceress, nor will the pain she is experiencing last longer than a day.” She turned, unbinding Shadow Weaver from the chair and dispelling the chains at her wrists. “She is a criminal and a dangerous one at that.” Gently, she began to gather the woman in her arms, ignoring Castaspella behind her as her expression fell to one of pained disbelief. 

She didn’t stop Tanwen from gathering Shadow Weaver up and felt frozen as she saw the grimace of pain on the sorceress’ face as she passed her by. 

Hand outstretched, Castaspella felt helpless to her own duty and justice as she watched Shadow Weaver disappear out of the Chamber of Voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'msorry!


	7. Hold It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver copes with the sentence as expected and Castaspella copes just as well.  
> Not.  
> Thankfully, they have a moment - however short.

Somewhere along the way as she was carried out of the Chamber of Voice, Shadow Weaver felt herself fade in and out of consciousness - the pins and needle pain that radiated through her arms and in her head beyond anything she’d ever felt before. 

Flashes of faces, scattered in her memory, came in an onslaught of confusing delirium. She recognized them all and immediately felt the guilt make a vicious resurgence. If she could move, Shadow Weaver was sure that her body would have writhed in agony and pain. 

Alas, as the pain gradually passed, she would find herself slowly opening her eyes to a dimly lit room - no larger than a small apartment that she recognized was a mentor’s quarters. Barely turning her head, not trusting her body to respond, Shadow Weaver tried to trudge through the odd fog in her mind to recall what had happened to her. She remembered the trial going from bad to worse and hearing an old woman speak over Castaspella constantly… 

And then the sentence had been passed - obviously dismissing whatever actual trial was in place and then… Pain. Pain and nothing. 

“Ugh,” Shadow Weaver groaned, trying to bring a hand up to her head and noticing that lack of responsiveness - followed by another resurgence of pain as she lifted up just a little. “Shit!” Like a wave of pins and needles, Shadow Weaver immediately regretted trying to move but bit through the over sensitivity to bring a shaky arm up and toward her face. It shook so violently and lacked responsiveness that she thought that she was partially paralyzed. “What… have they done to me?!” She snarled, gasping through the exertion before finally letting it rest on the bed beside her. 

_Think! THINK!_ Shadow Weaver begged her mind, trying to recall the sentence. Sigils were carved in her palms, she remembered that much… and… her mouth as well? Was she recalling that right? _What a nightmarish thought, but… I MUST know!_ Summoning up her strength, Shadow Weaver forced herself to flex and unflex her muscles to get used to the oversensitivity enough to move. She didn’t know how long it took, but didn’t really care either as she focused on her progress until she was finally standing and taking strong but stuttering steps toward the mirror.

Slamming both hands on either side, Shadow Weaver could see herself panting and sweating profusely in the mirror before finally she opened her mouth. 

Dull green eyes widened, a horrified groan escaping her throat as she stared at the glowing sigil on her tongue. _It's REAL!_ She realized, snapping her mouth shut and bringing one of her hands up. “I-I…” She could feel the fear building back up again as she stared at the gnarled sigil carved into her palm. Tears threatened to escape, Shadow Weaver fighting them and swallowing her emotions back as best she could. 

She hated this.  
Hated Mystacor.  
Hated living. 

But as she stared at the sigil, her other arm against the wall shaking as it struggled to hold up her weight… the guilt of her actions from years of torturing, killing and manipulating her enemies had caught up with her. Her precious daughter, Adora, and her last words to her echoed in her head like a seer’s words in hindsight.

‘You ruin people. You ruin any chance they could ever be happy.’

And it made… almost perfect sense why she was here. Alive. In pain. At the very place she’d left because she felt unseen. Unheard. And now they’d passed sentence upon her. Never to speak or weave another spell again.

Slowly, she brought her head down and pressed her forehead against the glass, a grimace on her face, _After everything I did for Etheria… all that I sacrificed… Have I truly forgotten why I’d gone to such lengths?_ The memories of keeping her affections of Adora and Catra hidden. The failure when she was challenged by Hordak for wasting his time. It all culminated in her twisting her plans further and further from the truth of her defecting from Mystacor…

To the point where she didn’t even remember why anymore. 

…  
..  
.

Stomping through the halls, Castaspella was on a warpath and it took all of her self control to not snap at every person that passed her by. The young apprentices were only barely spared as she avoided them and gave the children a wide berth to not scare them from her aggression. 

But, by the stars, she was so livid. 

A brief and loud argument with a handful of elder members of the council had concluded that Castaspella was suffering from a case of ‘being out of the loop’ as they called it and had even offered to re-educate her on the old ways of Mystacor. 

A sentiment that was given a vulgar gesture in return before she stomped away to find Shadow Weaver. She had to tell her how sorry she was, that none of this was in the plan and that-

Passing a corner, the young sorceress found herself knocking into someone without pay attention and nearly stumbled backwards onto the ground - were a pair of hands not there to grasp her and keep her aloft. “My apologies, I-!” Castaspella started with an apology just as she recognized the robust build of a battlemage. Her expression immediately crumpled into one of rage, “You-!”

Tanwen, for her part, didn’t seem intimidated or offended after releasing Castaspella, “You should walk more carefully, Head Sorceress.”

Castaspella stepped away from her, fire under her skin, “Don’t talk to me like you didn’t just condemn Shadow Weaver to barely an existence. What’s *wrong* with you?!” She could feel the spark of a spell under her fingertips but recalled the words of the councils. As it stood, she was on thin ice.

Tanwen narrowed her eyes, golden hues sharp with judgement, “I did what I had to do, for the safety of Etheria and for their justice.” 

“Why not just keep her in prison, then?!”

“Head Sorceress, does that not sound more inhumane? To keep a woman of her age in a prison and left to rot away without activity… cerebral or otherwise?” 

Castaspella felt her patience grind away, “So what? This is ‘for her own good’? That’s _bullshit_ ,” She didn’t often fall to vulgarities but this felt personal on some level and Castaspella knew she was toeing the line of what should and shouldn’t be said. “What you say and what you’re actually doing is hypocritical; monstrous, even! To torture Shadow Weaver because of your Father’s murder is-”

Tanwen’s tone was darker, much darker than it ever was before, “Do not speak to me of revenge, Head Sorceress…” She took a threatening step forward, fists clenched at her sides and Castaspella’s hands were opening - ready to defend herself if necessary. “You stand before me, riddled with indecision, and accuse me of revenge when that was ALL you spoke about for years.” 

Shock painted across Castaspella’s face, mortified by the knowledge thrown in her face, yet Tanwen wasn’t finished. Far from it, after years of being by Castaspella’s side… protecting her, encouraging her, and being the sentinel she needed to push toward the position she was in now.

“My father… was a fool, but he didn’t deserve to die. Shadow Weaver has paid for that, but the bigger picture is she didn’t just hurt my family, Castaspella,” Tanwen felt her voice crack, only a little but powered through. “She hurt yours and _countless_ others. Even her _own_ family, if the reports are true about Adora!”

“That’s _enough_!” Castaspella roared, taking a final step back even as a spell flickered into existence in her palm only for a second. 

Conflicted and red-faced, Tanwen took a relenting step back as well, closing her eyes tightly before giving her final words on the matter. “I won’t stray from my path as Light Spinner did… My father deserves that much.” 

Still, blinded by the series of betrayals that Castaspella endured, she couldn’t stop her own retort, “No. You’re not like Light Spinner…” She stomped past Tanwen, hissing, _“You’re worse.”_

As her heels furiously clacked away to fade in the distance, Tanwen would be left with an angry, wretched expression before she looked up, glaring at the besmirched statue of Light Spinner and stomping away herself. 

…  
..  
.

With a quiet rage, Castaspella found the room that Shadow Weaver was assigned and quickly knocked, listening for a response. She knew that she needed to rest but for how long and… was there anything she could do? When a tired, but familiar voice called out ‘Enter’, Castaspella was in and through the door immediately - brown eyes searching the room. When they found her, sitting upon the bed off to the side, Castaspella gave a sigh of relief that she wasn’t unconscious or worse. 

“I’m surprised you came to me…” Shadow Weaver’s dry tone carried, watching as Castaspella approached.

“What? Why?” Came the confused response.

“I'm sure Tanwen told you of my plan to escape. The trial went exactly as I predicted it would,” Shadow Weaver droned, looking away to glare passively at the window. “The world is now rid of the 'danger' of Shadow Weaver; not even your ‘authority’ could change that outcome.” While she didn’t feel any resentment toward Castaspella, her tone must have felt condemning - her view suddenly filled with the woman as she threw herself to sit on the bed in beside her. 

Hands came up to grasp at her shoulders, a hiss of pain as the sensitivity of her condition rushed up her arms, “Had I known they were going to seal your magic permanently, I would have never allowed that trial! Not even you, manipulative bitch that you are, deserve such a fate,” Shadow Weaver ignored the pain (and insult) as best she could, looking up at Castaspella and taking in the angry expression and wetness of her eyes that threatened to let fresh tears fall. 

Whatever rebuke she had died on her tongue, giving a long sigh, “Compose yourself…. what’s done is done. If _this_ is what it takes to survive, then why care for my safety beyond that?” She looked down at her hands, seeing them shake pathetically without control. “The council, fools that they are, are at least smart enough to take such measures against a powerful foe. While I despise their judgement… I am impressed that they had the nerve.” 

_Norwyn would have simply executed me. Hidden the fact and pretended to be as without guilt as possible. I’m sure of it,_ Shadow Weaver thought morosely to herself. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by Castaspella giving a howl of annoyance, standing up from the bed to throw her arms out in a dramatic show, “THAT’S what you fixate on?! That the council was _bastardly_ enough to stoop to your level and basically cripple you?” She scoffed, crossing her arms stubbornly, “Why am I not surprised that you’d respect that? It’s **vile** and I won’t stand for it!”

“You’re being awfully emotional for someone who was wronged so terribly by me,” Shadow Weaver teased, earning a deathly glare from the sorceress. “How do you know that the same wouldn’t have happened, were the table turned, Castaspella?” 

“I-” For only a second, it appeared as if the Head Sorceress had a confident response, only to hesitate - really imagining what might have happened were she captured in the Fright Zone as a prisoner. 

Mages never fought in the war; not directly, forbidden by not only her but the council that had taken Shadow Weaver’s magic from her. What would have happened and… would Shadow Weaver have been responsible. “You wouldn’t have gone this far…” She carefully stated, uncertain all the same however. This earned a dark chuckle from the sorceress. 

“Really? Suppose that means that I’ve gained some fort of… respect from you, then,” Shadow Weaver’s grin was stale, weak and without sarcasm as she looked back toward the window. “To think that you would be my only ally in Mystacor. If losing my magic wasn’t enough I suppose this would be adequate poetic justice as well.” 

“You don’t deserve this,” Castaspella insisted, pushing passed her conflict to grasp whatever conviction she had left. 

“I don’t,” Shadow Weaver agreed, looking back up with vindictive fire in her eyes. “But that doesn’t make the reality of the situation any more real. If this is my punishment, my-” She gestured dismissively, “-my ‘restitution’, then so be it.” Her deep frown outlayed the age with which the spell of obtainment had deteriorated her. “I leave little regret beyond not dying when I made my stand at the Heart.” 

Speechless, Castaspella stared at the resigned woman before her - hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Shadow Weaver? The impossible, ever-resourceful, crafty Shadow Weaver… giving up? Accepting her fate? “So that’s… that’s it, then?”

“What all is there left for me, Casta?” Shadow Weaver asked, hardly expecting an answer as she kept her gaze to the ground. “As it is, I am grateful that… whatever it is worth, I am able to live and eventually die within Mystacor at all.” 

“But that’s not _living_!" Castaspella argued.

Shadow Weaver’s head whipped up at her, retorting with an emotion she didn’t realize she felt, “What life do I have left to live?! The world is safe, my only children are able to live without my existence and the world _has it’s justice_! I have-” She stopped, feeling as if she were choking on air as she voiced the reality of her situation, seething with barely suppressed pain, “There is nowhere left for me to go. No Horde. No Bright Moon. Had the spell not ‘spat’ me out in Mystacor, I would have never come here!”

Maybe she would have made her way to the Crimson Wastes, or possibly even Beast Island to live out the rest of her days in solitude. She would never know. 

Stubborn as ever, Castaspella just didn’t know when to stop, “There has to be something we can do,” Sitting back beside her on the bed, Castaspella carefully took Shadow Weaver’s face in her hands and lifted her head to look her in the eyes. In her own expression there was regret, contrition and a determination to fix what was wrong. In Shadow Weaver’s… only cynical hopelessness remained. As untrusting as the day she met her. “I won’t let you suffer, Shadow Weaver.”

The echo of those familiar words sent a painful stab into her heart, guilt she’d never felt before blooming like a rose in the spring, “Don’t,” She warned, swallowing the emotion down as she growled. “I’ve had my chance. Whatever the universe ‘had in store for me’, Castaspella… it wasn’t a second chance. Not for me. Mystacor is the only home I’d ever known for as long as I can remember. It’s fitting that I should be imprisoned here than in Bright Moon.” 

In spite of her words, however, Shadow Weaver brought a hand up to hold one of Castaspella’s hands against her cheek, closing her eyes. She didn’t care how pathetic she appeared, the entire concept of her world turned on its head in under the span of a day… The feel of warmth against her skin was mollifying in its own way. 

In pain and melting at the same time, Castaspella felt another sharp pang of regret and shame for the sorceress. Here was a woman who held the weight of multiple war crimes, the failure of self-sacrifice and the resignation of the unbalanced consequences of her actions and all she could do was watch and let it all happen… just as Micah had fallen into a depression all those years ago. 

Swallowing down her fear, Castaspella shook her head and leaned forward to press her forehead to Shadow Weaver’s, “I’m not giving up on you… Adora wouldn’t. Angella wouldn’t…” And in spite of how much it hurt to remember the pain of losing Angella, the memory of how much the former Queen wanted to keep Shadow Weaver comfortable in spite of her crimes was an inspiration - even if it was foolish. 

Shadow Weaver didn’t respond, simply closing her eyes to just enjoy the moment. 

Gradually, as they both felt the moment linger, Castaspella would open her eyes - staring at the scars that marked the woman in her hubris before finding her gaze drawn to those familiar lips. Hotly, her face flushed, remembering the feel of them against her in the Vault before all of this mess came to pass. With a calm that frightened her, she found herself moving the hand that wasn’t held by Shadow Weaver’s to her chin and cautiously moving to kiss her. 

Shocked but not unpleasantly so, Shadow Weaver didn’t waste any time at the offer of affection and pressed closer. It was all the approval Castaspella needed, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. 

It was electric. Painful and ecstatic all at once. Warmth that had started in her face was quickly spreading through her body as Castaspella moved her hand from Shadow Weaver’s chin to over her jawline, finally just hooking her arm around the sorceress’ neck to keep her close. 

Every kiss was searing, more so than usual even to the witch that took pleasure in pain and suffering. She’d released her hold over Castaspella’s hand on her cheek in favor of moving it down Castaspella’s face, her neck, her side - where it would snake around her waist to pull her closer. Breath came in sharp gasps, followed by low moans of appreciation. Within moments, Castaspella taking the rare moment to be on top, Shadow Weaver was laid comfortably across the bed. 

Even now, without magic. Without freedom. Without dignity - Shadow Weaver took power in the most unlikely of places, whispering sinful promises between them, “Is that going to be an ongoing thing, then?” She taunted, arching up as Castaspella leaned down to capture her lips in a warm caress. “Are you going to be my pretty jailor once more?” 

Castaspella felt herself groan, half in arousal and the other in annoyance, “Bright Moon was just a one-time thing, damn you,” And tried to shut Shadow Weaver up with another kiss, taking satisfaction in the press of their bodies - driving their momentum for once. 

“So you say,” Came the amusing chuckle, and Castaspella could swear she felt claws begin to teasingly nick at her dress. “Would you like to prove me wrong, then?”

A sudden loud knocking interrupted their moment together, leaving the question of who would win to remain a mystery, as Castaspella pushed herself away with a scandalous squeak and righted gown. “A moment!” Castaspella called out, almost presentable with the exception of the deep flush across her face. Just before she would allow the guest inside, she caught sight of Shadow Weaver tapping her own lip pointedly. 

Appearing oddly absent of black paint on her own lips. “OH!” just before she rushed to a mirror and fixed her smudged lips. “E-Enter!” 

With a creak, the door was opened to reveal two high sorcerers clothed in robes and hoods before announcing, “Your presence is requested in the Lunarium for service to maintain the lenses. Come with us, Shadow Weaver,” And just like that, whatever warm moment the sorceress had shared with Castaspella was sundered by the new reality of her confinement. 

“... Very well. No rest for the wicked, is there?” With a scoff, she rose from the bed and began to make her way toward the mages. 

Until Castaspella halted her, “A moment,” She commanded the two mages, receiving a nod from them before they returned to stand just outside. She knew she didn’t have much time to relay this, the point of her visit. “Shadow Weaver, be honest with me,” She began, “-Are you _sure_ you don’t want Adora and Catra to be told of your.arrest and sentence? Do you truly believe they would want this for you?” 

Shadow Weaver felt a drop from her heart straight into the pit of her stomach and saw the ‘out’ for what it was. Her wards were predictable. Emotional. No one knew how well they could be manipulated more than she did… and for once, the fact disgusted her. Swallowing the ash in her mouth, Shadow Weaver turned away from Castaspella, unable to trust her expressions. 

“No, they wouldn’t... but this is not for my benefit. This is for them. They do not need me in their lives and I do not deserve them in mine,” The words came so coldly, in spite of the pain that throbbed in her chest.

“You don’t…. _know that_ , Shadow Weaver,” Castaspella argued weakly, “We can do something about this.”

“Once more, no. Besides, Bright Moon’s justice isn’t so dissimilar to this. Please… do not ask me this again, Casta.” 

Pity in her eyes, Castaspella felt the familiar boil of shame in her stomach before she took in a deep breath and gave a nod, gaze drawn downward, “As you wish.”

"Of course... but," Shadow Weaver gave one last glance at her, shooting her the ghost of a grin, “Thank you,” before walking to the door, opening it and closing it behind her to leave the Head Sorceress alone with her own thoughts and feelings. 

And, predictably, her thoughts led to the injustice of it all. What use was there for her to be the Head Sorceress if she held no power? No authority? Once more, Castaspella found herself revisiting the origin of her betrayed confidence and looked up from the floor with a burning gleam in her eye. 

She had research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SW and Casta get some kisses. As a Treat.


	8. Crossing a Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three months since Shadow Weaver's magic was sealed. Like all things, there's only so much one can take before something gives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that earns that story's rating ya'll! Don't worry, however, there will be plenty more to come after this!  
> A HUGE shoutout to @MylesJericho on Twitter for their AMAZING artwork that made in honor of 'Shadows of the Day'! I am so grateful for their art of my fic!!  
> You can find them here! https://twitter.com/MylesJericho/status/1336161727734419458  
> Here! https://twitter.com/MylesJericho/status/1341172630645194752  
> And here! https://twitter.com/MylesJericho/status/1341173691460141058
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone!!

The sound of metal on metal could be heard, followed by an offset and loud ‘CLINK’ before a curse hissed from the one responsible. Inside the musty recesses of a room that barely resembled a closet, Shadow Weaver was alone whilst trying to tinker with some sort of collection of crystals. Sweat dripped from her brow, breathing heavily as she struggled to angle the two glowing hot gems in her hands - barely protected from the molten heat by enchanted gloves she’d procured.

“Once more-!” She hissed, desperate to get these two gems to activate and release a powerful muting spell. As she pressed the two gems together, struggling against the opposing forces that repelled them away like same-side magnets, Shadow Weaver was just scant millimeters from contact when the gems’ force was too much for her and she released a subdued cry as they flared and flew away from each other out of her grasp. 

With a seething growl, Shadow Weaver held her hands as they shook from the powerful vibrations of raw magical energy. Another failure under her belt. 

For three months, Shadow Weaver has stayed at Mystacor - her own Horde dress long since gone in favor of the council gifting her apprentice robes. She missed her own clothes. She missed… hobbies, like botany or weaving. Her life was little more than obeying the rules when necessary and stretching the limits of her ‘freedoms’ at every opportunity. Adaptation was a skill that the sorceress… if she could even call herself that anymore… held in spades. 

If only her more creative schemes actually bore fruit. She’d managed to hide these gems away from the sorcerers long enough to gather the tools necessary to attempt a ‘meld’ - incorrectly, of course. A correct meld of these two opposing elemental runes would only yield a powerful gem capable of destroying half of Mystacor, if it were even possible. 

No, she merely needed them to touch and produce a wave of nullifying magic to dispel the runes. If only it were so easy…

Helpless ire bubbled beneath her skin, the same anger that she’d known all of her life - only for a numbness to wash over her skin and douse the negative emotions. Once angry, vengeful eyes, nearly closed at the sensation of her mind melting into a haze. Her hands fell to her sides limply and Shadow Weaver felt her body lose all tension as she tipped back to lean into the chair. 

Emotions were… hard to feel now. Perhaps because she was so attached to magic? An adverse effect of the spell that pushed her emotional balance into a pendulum state? She couldn’t know for sure, but the fact remained: She couldn’t get angry or sad or even feel the rare moments of happiness, anymore… 

She’d first noticed it as she was making her way to a mandatory chore; something she didn’t realize was going to be a constant in her new ‘life’ upon Mystacor. Cleaning the lenses, sorting the library… attending to the lavatories… as humiliating as that was, she could accept these tasks. 

It was the eyes upon her that she couldn’t accept. 

She wasn’t allowed near students, so it only left High Mages and accelerated Apprentices, but they all knew who she was. What she’d done. What she represented and with her mask gone, the reality of her scarred face bared for all to see was like a slow poison seeping through her skin. 

For the first time in years, she truly wanted to crawl up into a hole and cry. Felt the pin pricks of tears at her eyes before the sudden onrush of… of ‘tranquility’ washed over her and she had to physically stop moving to hold a wall. Before she was ushered forward, Shadow Weaver had lamented upon this odd side-effect and realized that she was losing connection with more than just her magic.

She was losing connection to her own emotions. A deeper cut to her ‘volatile nature’ than just _ridding her of magic_. 

None seemed to care about her odd reactions and lackluster responses. 

To her disappointment… it appeared that even Castaspella had grown tired of seeing her in her own home. 

Since the day of her sentence, the last warm moment she shared with the sorceress, was the last moment she’d seen of her completely. Had she gone on an extended vacation? Exiled by the ‘exalted’ Council that had betrayed her so thoroughly? 

Or was she just so disgusted with her that Castaspella couldn’t stand to even look at her? Avoiding her with the practiced ease of the coward she was…

Gathering herself as best she could, Shadow Weaver pulled the gloves from her hands and dropped them to the ground, ignoring the gems that had receded to their dormant non-glowing state - no longer spurred on by the power of their polar opposite in close proximity. 

She opened the door to the closet, broken green eyes downcast as she stepped forward to walk in the direction of her quarters in a passive, zombie-like state. Colors, sound and even sensation was miles away from her consciousness as she traversed the halls of Mystacor on autopilot. It was only when she felt her own hand touching the door handle did Shadow Weaver feel herself become lucid and self-aware. 

Instead of shock or surprise, however, Shadow Weaver merely gave a sigh of resignation and opened the door. The lack of cognizance deeply disturbed her, but after months of adapting to the lack of control over her body… the woman had realized the futility of fighting against the spell’s effects. 

_What will it matter? There is no refuge for me. Not beyond this…_

Without care, the sorceress fell into the bed to close her eyes and shut down her mind. If she had to count any of her blessings… it was that she could at least fall asleep of her own accord. 

…  
..  
.

A harsh rapping against the door jolted Shadow Weaver from her slumber, flinching out of instinct before the door was opened without a hint of reservation. Glaring at the invasion of what she could barely call privacy, Shadow Weaver would recognize the armor of a certain battle mage anywhere. She looked away, catching on that the morning moon was no longer in rise, _What time is it?_

“You were out of this room last night, Shadow Weaver,” Tanwen stated, leaving no room for excuses as per usual. 

Desperately, she clung to her rebellious nature, “... And?” 

“You’re confined to quarters after your daily reconciliation. You’ve known this for weeks.” Yes, and she hated it. Was it not obvious?

“Is that right? It must have… slipped my mind. Age, you understand,” Even tired, Shadow Weaver could at least cast a cruel smile Tanwen’s way and take satisfaction in the way the battle mage narrowed her eyes. That moment didn’t last near as long, however, as the Capra woman’s expression changed to one of pity. 

“... Two elemental rune stones were found missing from the Crystarium. Blood found on one of them was traced back to you, Shadow Weaver,” The manner in which the mage spoke was so far-removed from the words she was speaking that Shadow Weaver struggled to realize the implications. 

It was only when she looked down, her scarred arm exposed with long-dried blood that had dripped from the wound did she realize how muddy her memory truly was from last night. To have not even felt pain from her skin being ripped open-

A long silence passed as Shadow Weaver felt herself just staring at the coagulated wound, eliciting a confused look from Tanwen before she moved her hand over to touch the woman on the shoulder, “Shadow Weaver?”

Slowly, the sorceress looked up - eyes glazed over as the state of shock and realization of pain had the dissociative state return. Laughably, it seemed that even the acknowledgement of pain seemed to elicit the tranquil response before it ever reached her brain, “... I-... I didn’t realize.” Indeed, she didn’t - not realizing that she’d just admitted to a crime she’d barely recalled committing. 

She couldn’t even emulate fear given the spell's effects…

Silently, eyes firmly locked on the oddly behaving sorceress, Tanwen just lamented the unfortunate change she’d observed over the past few months. She witnessed these moments, jarring in the fact that they never matched up with the fiery, scheming woman that Tanwen had grown to expect. It wasn’t so bad at first, only momentary lapses in between great emotion as Shadow Weaver protested the indignity of her treatment before she grew quiet and reserved. 

Tanwen believed it was her silently plotting, as she was wont to do. She was certain she wasn’t wrong, but her reactions gradually worsened - the sudden mood swings worsening along with it. 

Shadow Weaver nearly apologizing was dangerously out of character for her. Tanwen spoke gently, “I have taken care of the gems and cleaned the room. Do you… wish to tell me your side of things?” Against her better judgement, Tanwen was not in any hurry to vilify the foggy woman.

Within the cloud of haze in her mind, Shadow Weaver looked up into the eyes of the battle mage, confused but speaking before she could stop herself, “I wanted to be free of this spell through magical discharge…” And inside she cursed her weakness, trying to force emotion through the haze, “-that _you_ inflicted on me!” She hissed. 

Tanwen suspected as much, shaking her head, “You would go so far as to possibly destroy your connection to magic?... Fully aware of the effects of unaspected burns upon yourself?”

“Very aware. You… you have no idea the hell I’ve gone through, do you?” Shadow Weaver seethed, arms shaking as she forced her fist to clench so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “Not that it stopped you from being the councils’ little bitch on a leash.” 

“You’re being irrational, Shadow Weaver,” Tanwen warned firmly, stepping toward the woman in an attempt to intimidate her. 

Any other time. Any other condition of her imprisonment, Shadow Weaver might have relented - the instinct to preserve her life stronger than the desire to lash out at her oppressors… but this wasn’t just ‘any other time’.

White hot anger pierced through her heart, boiling the blood in her veins and the events and subjugation of the past three months came stampeding through her mind. Tanwen was the enemy, the direct reason she was without magic. Without emotions. 

Without Castaspella…

The temperature in the air changed, growing warmer and more humid as the shine of the afternoon moons that shown through her windows began to fade gradually. Shadows, wild with disuse and hungry for something to feast upon, trailed up the walls around them like blood opposing gravity. 

Tanwen looked around frantically, having never seen this before but more concerned with the abject fear that this… this was Dark Magic. Magic Shadow Weaver should have lost connection with months ago and even less aspected to since the binding.

 _ **You did this to me… ALL of you!**_ Came the familiar echo of demonic volume, directioning Tanwen’s gaze back to Shadow Weaver as she observed her hair begin to rise in response to the use of magic. At her fingertips, the chorus of a spell sung to her call, luminescing with a gold-colored shine. 

Shadow Weaver’s hands gnarled, claws at the ready for battle as her own violet circles flashed to life. 

It lasted for all of second before it sputtered out like a glitching screen and Shadow Weaver’s hair fell in a mess of mussed strands. Her eyes widened in something akin to shock, lip trembling just before she looked down at her hand. Just like before, the numbness had returned - prickling the skin beneath her hands… 

The scars along her arms seemed to shift unnaturally… as if they were alive - something she’d never seen before - just as a pain many times stronger than she'd ever experienced since the original spell of obtainment ripped through her body.

Clenching her teeth, it came barreling through her pain tolerance, “Augh... AA-AAAUGHHHHH!” Lancing through her body, Shadow Weaver fell to her knees as the sensation of knives stabbing through her nerves at the same time stole her balance from under her, wrapping her arms around herself as she dug claws into the skin. “U-UGH! _AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!_ ”

Tanwen, holding her hands out as if to attempt grabbing the sorceress, could only stagger back as what appeared to be dark and painful lashes of electricity arced through the air around Shadow Weaver. With every crack of the seemingly charged electric shock, Shadow Weaver would arch her back painfully - as if she were being electrocuted and helpless to cease this apparent reaction of the sealing spell.

“Shadow Weaver?! SHADOW WEAVER!” She called, trying to gain her attention through what many would consider a lethal dose of magical recoil. The spell showed no sign of stopping, however, even as the sorceress had fallen to the floor in a fit of terrifying convulsions. Hands shaking and without much choice, Tanwen quickly cast a spell and threw it upon Shadow Weaver’s body - hoping beyond all hope that forced slumber would cease the reaction and free the woman from her pain. 

The effect, thankfully, worked as intended and Tanwen watched with trembling relief as Shadow Weaver’s body calmed from the convulsions and lay unmoving. The dark magic no longer crackled around her, rending the sorceress from within… 

As Tanwen starred, more sorcerers rushing into to investigate the screaming of their prisoner, the battle mage could only come to the world-shattering realization that this… this spell - this seal… 

-Was truly a monstrous and inhumane fate. 

No one deserved this. An experimental spell made to sever the connection of one’s magic permanently? Why was this created? For what reason? And why… why, _why_ , WHY did she accept casting it on Shadow Weaver?! The longer she stared at the woman on the ground, slowly being looked over and then lifted onto the bed to be left just _sleep_ her pain away, the more powerful Tanwen’s emotion began to churn within her stomach to the point of sickness. 

This wasn’t recompense. Wasn’t justice. This was just cruelty. 

She turned from the room, ignoring the calls for her name, and began a swift beeline toward the forbidden library. Castaspella was due to return any day now and, if she made it in time-

\- she could help right these wrongs.

…  
..  
.

Due to the nature of Shadow Weaver’s injuries, the woman had been kept in a sleep-spell induced coma. The sorcerers had been working around the clock to decipher what had gone wrong with the spell or, even, if it had done the job they’d intended it to do. So far, as it stood, the Council had been of the opinion that Shadow Weaver’s attempt to use magic was reflected by the seal in equal measure and was thought to have been a justified recoil. 

None could explain why it didn’t reduce her to unconsciousness, however.

Or why it had allowed the use of magic to begin with…

She’d finally awoken from her coma and had recovered thanks to the use of healing magic and the Steam Grotto’s alleviating effects, but the damage she felt had permeated her body was done. Neuropathy that stung when even the soft caress of a sheet glided over her skin was a constant reminder of the nerve damage she suffered from the magical burns. 

As she lay in bed, asleep and given mandatory bed-rest… she wasn’t expecting to be visited in the night. She felt someone approach before she heard them, a hand coming up to gently shake her awake on her shoulder causing her to hiss in pain and glare up from her pillow at the perpetrator. 

Only for her heart to tighten painfully at the familiar face of Castaspella. To her shame, Shadow Weaver's voice cracked with a surprise, “Casta…?”

“What? Did you miss me?” Came an almost-amused retort, audibly forced as Castaspella seemed to do her best to put on a brave face. Even in the dark of the evening moons, however, Shadow Weaver could see the deep shadows of many nights of sleeplessness. 

Where had she gone? What had she been doing and why was she coming back only now? Shadow Weaver frowned, the familiar broil of anger resurfacing before she felt Castaspella stand back up and try to move her, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I… I think. Are you alright? Look, it’s a long story but I need you to get up and quickly! We haven’t much time-” 

Confusion replaced her vindictive feelings and Shadow Weaver scoffed, “I’m _fine_. What are you going on about?” She wanted answers. “Where have you been? Gallivanting across Etheria in celebration or did you forget to take a vacation away from your pri-”

Without warning, a sudden but scarcely painful slap silenced Shadow Weaver's cruel words, throwing her head to the side and eliciting an aghast expression of offense. 

Castaspella didn’t try to look apologetic, her expression cross and tired, “Shut up and listen or you’re _never_ getting out here! Do you understand?” She hissed, far too exhausted to deal with Shadow Weaver’s callousness. 

For a long moment, Shadow Weaver struggled against the impulse to just lash out but something… dark and attractive made her bite her tongue. With a tense nod, she said nothing else but lamented the hot sting of the slap against her face and questioned why she didn’t seem to mind it's bite.

Whether it was out of exhaustion or a sense of urgency, Castaspella didn’t seem to notice the capitulation to Shadow Weaver’s relief and began quickly, “The council doesn’t know I’ve returned, yet, and I can only hope it stays that way until I can get you out of here... but, I… _we_ have researched a way to get your magic back.” 

Shadow Weaver’s heart pounded within her chest as she listened to Castaspella’s words, hardly able to believe what she was hearing until a small detail seemed to scream out from her choice of words. _... ‘We’?_

She was silent for a long moment before Shadow Weaver’s eyes sharpened, “What have you done, Castaspella?” She growled, feeling her blood boil at the idea that her wishes were so callously ignored. It was only there for a moment, the flash of regret, but Shadow Weaver caught the change in her expression. 

“I didn’t have any choice, Shadow Weaver. I… I couldn’t figure it out on my own. Micah-”

Her blood ran cold, hissing hotly at the sorceress, _”You told him I was ALIVE?!”_ This was bad. Worse than bad. She knew better than anyone that the boy she trained in his youth couldn’t keep a secret to save his life and here Castaspella was… giving away her only chance at leaving her wards’ peace in his hands! 

Still, the fire in her eyes was admirable as she leaned into Shadow Weaver’s face, “It was the only way to figure it out! There was no one else to help me! To-!” Her voice cracked, the stress, pain and fear of these past few months crashing around her as she fell to her knees with her head bowed low, shoulders shaking. Shadow Weaver’s eyes slowly lost their hardness, a sharp twist within her chest making her despise the sight before her, more so when it was Castaspella’s voice breaking under a strain she could scarcely understand. “-to h-help **you.** I…”

Shadow Weaver heard enough, closing her eyes tightly before biting out between clenched teeth, “Get up off the floor, damn you.” As cold as she tried to sound, she couldn’t help the painful edge that betrayed her. 

With a grimace, Castaspella forced herself to her feet - the effort proving that she’d pushed herself too far for too long. Sitting along the bed next to Shadow Weaver, Castaspella tried to think of a way to begin through the muddled emotions, taking just a bit too long before the scarred woman gave a sigh, “Start from the beginning, Casta. For instance,” And she couldn’t help the slight poison in her tone, “-why you never tried to visit me.”

Guilt ate at the sorceress’ eyes, looking at Shadow Weaver with deep pain, “I couldn’t risk being found out. If any of the council I once trusted knew, there was a possibility I would be usurped or… possibly silenced myself.” Goosebumps rushed down her spine, raising the hairs along her skin. 

A wave of protective ire washed over Shadow Weaver, “That wouldn’t have happened. I would have made sure-” And she would. If necessary, and she knew what necessity was, she would have taken the lives of every sorcerer that dared.

Yet Castaspella was more affected by this thought than usual and her reassurances fell short as she interjected, “Not in your condition. I lost you once already, Shadow Weaver, and I won’t lose you again.” The wording caught Shadow Weaver off guard, eliciting a deeply conflicted expression before she gave a scoff - diverting to insults. 

“You’ve always been soft, Casta. Foolish.” 

At that, the woman just gave a childish roll of her eyes as her face raised in temperature realizing what she said, “Whatever! Back to the matter at hand,” She pushed, ignoring how her face burned. “Micah and I worked tirelessly to counter the results; working backwards to replicate the effects of the spell and then try to create a counter-balance. What we made should work based on the runes on your hand-” Gently, she reached for one of Shadow Weaver’s hands and turned the palm over to gently open it. 

Shadow Weaver ignored the warmth that bloomed in her chest. The electric shock of sensation on her skin as she allowed the touch. “- and what they represent. I just…” Shadow Weaver looked up, her hand benignly released to shockingly come up to hold her chin within two fingers. Caught off guard, Shadow Weaver allowed her mouth to be guided open and caught on quickly as she realized Castaspella wanted to see the rune on her tongue. She ignored the burn in her belly as Castaspella continued, “I struggled to come up with a dignified way to remove the rune on your tongue!” She looked up at Shadow Weaver with pity in her eyes, “Why they silenced your tongue I’ll never know. Incantations?”

With her chin released, she responded with sharp wit, “Clearly,” Her mind already working as quick as lightning to construct a solution. “Have you brought the notes with you? Let me look them over,” Her tone gave no room for argument. It infuriated Castaspella in a way she couldn’t explain, but given the circumstances, she didn't bother to argue.

Briefly, she held up her hand - a dimly lit circle manifesting above her palm - before she closed her hand around a scroll that fell from the circle. Shadow Weaver felt her heart skip a beat, envious jealousy licking at her insides from the display of magic, before she was given the scroll to look over. 

She quashed the distracting emotions, a habitually difficult task that she’d grown proficient with over the years, and began to read quickly. 

The theory was sound.  
The application of the spell was... Dubious but tethered in logic.  
The counter… abysmally simple but practical. 

She wasn’t impressed but neither was she disappointed. She could see the influences of Micah’s assistance but, surprisingly… most of the groundwork that shocked her was laid by Castaspella. 

“You… did most of this,” Shadow Weaver stated. 

Castaspella didn’t even have the audacity to take credit for herself, “I told you I had help. Micah was the one to work up the counter. Though, I admit that I-... I found something. In the library in Bright Moon that didn’t belong.” Shadow Weaver looked up, intrigued. “A scroll that would have certainly been stored _and sealed away_ was sitting in the royal library’s table. Just-” She gestured with her hands frustratingly, “-sitting there! It’s like someone was trying to just GIVE me the answers!”

Her mind was like a metal bear trap, “When? When did you find this?” 

“Ah… about three days ago. It was, honestly, the reason I was able to get to you at all.”

 _What intervention is this?_ Shadow Weaver thought with deep suspicion, paranoid of some outside force acting upon unknown knowledge but unable to afford to focus on that. Right now, in front of her, the spell needed her attention. 

She scrutinized the counter spell in great detail, Working over what mistakes she could find and correct. What she found, ironically enough, implied that the counter seals had to be applied and cast in a synchronized manner. Her eyes narrowed, _The hands are a simple matter of synchronizing movement but the tongue… that’s a little trickier._

And yet, as tricky as it was, Shadow Weaver immediately thought of an idea. One that had her slowly grin, _Who am I to pass up an opportunity for some petty revenge?_ She turned to Castaspella, “How did you propose you counter the tongue rune?” 

Completely unaware of Shadow Weaver’s schemes, even if the grin had her suspicious, Castaspella hummed softly, “Well, originally I… intended to mark a paper and just put it on your tongue.” 

The sound of a snort had the sorceress flush with red-hot embarrassment, “Are you even real, Casta? A _paper_? And here I thought you were much more creative than that.” 

The squawk of indignance was like music to her ears, “MICAH suggested it!” 

“So you say…” Shadow Weaver teased, shaking her head with an amused grin. A slight twinge of apathy seared through her head, reminding her that emotions were still restricted by the spell and she took in a deep breath before continuing, “I have a suggestion that _solves_ synchronization. I suggest you put it to use.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Castaspella gestured for Shadow Weaver to continue - far too tired to argue anymore. After a few moments of explaining, Castaspella would have her head in her hands with a disgusted groan, “You’re _incorrigible._ ”

“But not wrong,” Shadow Weaver retorted. 

With a sigh, Castaspella hoped the twitch of a smile wasn’t noticeable. It was definitely noticed.

“Fine-FINE! But only because I’m curious if it will work!” She sighed and looked for a small pen for Shadow Weaver to use on her tongue. “I thought the paper was good…” She muttered.

“If I have to explain why it’s not-”

“Oh, shut up.” 

Once the pen was found and given, Shadow Weaver was quick to mark the counter runes in Castaspella’s palms flawlessly - if a bit slow. Not that she minded in the least. Turns out, there was an odd tingle that came with someone writing on the palm of one’s hand and Castaspella was already so much more receptive to touch after practically throwing herself into her studies with Micah. When it came time for Shadow Weaver to make the marks upon her tongue, however…

The sexual tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

In spite of not wearing her usual Horde dress, Shadow Weaver still managed to look as regal and confident as ever and upon the sorceress raising a hand to touch the side of her face, Castaspella reflexively swallowed back her anxiety. 

While she wanted to get her magical power back, Shadow Weaver couldn’t deny a sense of long overdue power and control that she knew she had over Castaspella. She didn’t quite understand it, but felt compelled to never miss when a chance presented itself. 

Her thumb grazed over high cheek bones gently, “Open your mouth, Casta,” She commanded with a tone that had no right to send decadent shivers down Castaspella’s spine. 

Silently, she did so and closed her eyes - preferring not to stare at the woman already infringing upon her personal space. Shadow Weaver eyed her tongue, a sudden sweeping rush burning through her body straight down to her core. She had to maintain control just a little longer, glaring briefly at her hand holding the pen as it seemed to sway a little. Carefully, moving her hand from Castaspella’s cheek, Shadow Weaver held her chin securely and began to mark the corresponding counter rune. 

The next part that came had to be done quickly and precisely.

Rune finished and ready, Shadow Weaver nonchalantly threw the pen in a random direction in the room. Her voice was strained. Warm. “Are you ready?” Standing over Castaspella as she sat on the bed, Shadow Weaver brought both hands to her shoulders - sliding them tantalizingly gentle down her arms until she reached her wrists. 

Not wanting to speak and ruin the rune, Castaspella nodded. 

From her wrists, Shadow Weaver opened her hands to coerce Castaspella’s own to hover just above her palms. She moved her face closer, her own heart pounding in her chest as Shadow Weaver fought to keep her emotions under control just a few seconds longer. Faces scant inches away from each other, Shadow Weaver made it very clear, “Don’t. Move,” and felt vindicated when the sound of a barely contained moan broke through. 

Self control slipping, Shadow Weaver opened her mouth quickly to slide her tongue along Castaspella’s; hot, wet warmth painfully searing straight down to her cunt just as she pushed the palms of her hands against the sorceress’ - fingers interlocking intimately. 

The activation of the spell was near-instantaneous, bathing the room in a bright blue light for only a fraction of a moment before a swift circle of enchantment manifested into existence below Shadow Weaver’s feet. However, it was gone just as quickly as it came - disappearing into nothing in an almost anticlimactic manner…

Within the sorceress, however, the feeling of power - of emotion that was surging through her veins like a stampede - was anything but anticlimactic. 

Dark hair that had succumbed to gravity began to float above her, the paleness of her dark skin brimming with previously missing dark power that she’d missed for months crackling to life within her. Just as her magic returned to her like a floodgate opened before the dam of an ocean, so too did the wellspring of emotion that she’d struggled with gush from within her soul - leaving Castaspella to be the only refuge for her expression. 

Not that she minded all that much. 

Pressed into the bed by what felt like super-human strength, Castaspella gasped for breath between a pair of soft but hungry lips as Shadow Weaver inundated her with strong, wet kisses that practically stole the breath from her. They were fast, all-encompassing and if she didn’t know better… filled with an emotion that felt like desperation. 

In the space of their kisses, Shadow Weaver could only groan her painful desire, “Casta-” A strangled gasp pulled from Castaspella as her stomach lurched at the way her name fell from her lips.

 _I guess I don’t know better, after all._ Castaspella thought without much care. 

The only thing that mattered in this moment was the electric touch of the woman straddling her from above as their interlocked fingers tightened to an almost painful degree. Before long, however, their hands found other places to be and their seditious motives entertained more indulgent ideas. 

As Shadow Weaver’s hands released Castaspella’s to greedily caress her sides and curl around her back, the sorceress pressed against the bed didn’t hesitate to bring a hand up to Shadow Weaver’s face and pull her invitingly against her - their bodies pressed together with such urgency that they didn’t even realize they’d moved up closer onto the bed. 

Without thinking, a testament to her powerful instinct and fervor, Shadow Weaver cast seals throughout the room to keep anyone out and none the wiser while simultaneously making quick work of any clothes she could get her hands on. They fell easily to the sharp accuracy of her claws even as she was swallowing the gasps with her mouth. “Wait, Sh-Shadow-” Castaspella barely managed. 

“Don’t!” Shadow Weaver snarled, giving only that much warning before she was sealing their lips together and practically stealing any word Castaspella could get in edgewise. “Give this… to me,” She begged, even as her power dictated that she could take it, easily and without any resistance. She was more powerful than she had ever been; Castaspella couldn’t stop her if she wanted to… but she didn’t want absolute control. She didn’t want to destroy what had been so beautifully formed through dedication, willpower… and love. 

The realization was almost jarring: She loved Castaspella; even if it didn’t make sense, didn’t prove to further any goals and couldn’t possibly prove to last very long… 

She just… did. 

Castaspella, meanwhile, wasn’t faring any better and practically laughed in between kisses, “Don’t be… an idiot,” The grip upon Shadow Weaver’s back tightened and the sorceress above her gave a needy groan. _“Why would I want this to stop?”_

 _Because we’re fools! Criminals! We’re-_ Shadow Weaver’s mind betrayed her, unable to voice these words as she crushed her lips against Castaspella’s again and again. Instead, she only managed to relinquish her ravenous hold over her mouth to blaze a path of open-mouth kisses to Castaspella’s ear, growling with lust, **”I want you.”**

She gasped for what precious air she could get, “Yes!” Castaspella hissed, holding the sorceress as close as possible to her body before letting out a cry of pain mixed with tingling pleasure, “Ngh, what-?” At her neck, feeling the sensation of something wet rolling down the skin, Shadow Weaver had sunk her bottom fangs right into the flesh of her neck. 

Shadow Weaver groaned against her neck, quickly licking over the punctures that looked far less painful then they likely felt, her action spoke for her as she kissed a sweet but passionate trail back up to Castaspella’s mouth. One last searing kiss that tasted of copper and she pulled back just enough to infuriatingly taunt her in that liquid velvet voice that drove Castaspella crazy, “And now you’re mine…” 

“You… you wish,” Castaspella struggled, even as she met Shadow Weaver half-way to audibly make a mess of her mouth with the paint of her lips. 

Barely clothed as they ravaged each other, time was the last thing on her mind as she was soon divested of the last of her clothing - looking upon the dark scars that marked Shadow Weaver’s body like the roots of a tree. _Was that why she liked botany?_ It was an odd thought to have as she arched her back with a lustful cry, her breasts attacked with those same maddeningly lethal teeth. 

She barely registered when Shadow Weaver had moved down her body until the skin she’d been scratching had grasped tightly to hair. Like her body was connected to a live wire, Castaspella curled her legs around the back of Shadow Weaver’s head as she felt a dexterous tongue work it’s magic upon her clit. “D… Damn it, how are you s-sssso-” She barely lasted seconds, hissing with release as her inner walls tightened around nothing painfully. It was a harsh orgasm, pulled savagely from within her from weeks of not taking care of her body. 

Unfortunately, it seemed Shadow Weaver was here to make up for lost time - if the evidence of a hand between her legs wasn’t obvious enough. “Slowdown!” She chided with a gasp, leaning up to glare at the woman between her legs. 

What she received in response sent chills down her spine, familiar glowing red eyes filled with wonton desire as she watched Shadow Weaver lower her mouth back down to her clit. Stars flashed in her eyes as the oversensitivity of her clit paired with Shadow Weaver's frightening level of experience massaging the muscles within had Castaspella throw her head back with a cry - only barely stifled as she forced her hand up to bite down painfully on her knuckles. 

One after the other, in various ways that had her swear she’d gone in and out of consciousness with every peak, the sorceress was guided and pulled from one orgasm to the next without much recovery time. She had no sense of the passage of time, yet she could remember what those shadow hands felt like on her skin and how it felt to feel the nip and bite of teeth along the inside of her thigh. Every creative use of dark magic that must have been aching to be let out was used to bring her to a new, more powerful, high and by the time Shadow Weaver had been satisfied Castaspella was little more than a worn-out puddle of post-coital numbness. 

Lain on her side and shivering from the cold that came after their coupling, she was vaguely aware of a blanket being pulled over and up to her shoulders. 

Tired, but invigorated above all else, Shadow Weaver loomed over the woman beside her as she reveled in the newly found power. Buzzing with new life, Shadow Weaver felt as if she could run a marathon and - if Castaspella wasn’t so exhausted before coming here - would have likely wanted to continue longer. 

Still, she allowed herself a moment to dote on the Head Sorceress and massaged her back with a hand, “Are you alright?” She rumbled, the tinge of a familiar demon-song echo in her voice. 

With a barely-there sound of acknowledgment, Castaspella began to close her eyes, “Mmm. ‘M fine… tired.” 

Shadow Weaver chuckled, laying herself down to pull the woman against her, “I bet you are. **Sleep.** We won’t be disturbed until morning.”

“Yeah…” Castaspella agreed, words slurred with lethargy as she quickly succumbed to the slumber. Silently, Shadow Weaver watched her breathing slow and even out, satisfied to just simply observe. Like a sentinel with a new purpose. Her thoughts tread dangerous territory as she raised her opposite hand, glancing at her palm. 

Gone was the sigil and good riddance. If she ever saw such a disgusting seal of power again… it would be far too soon. 

Shadow Weaver returned her gaze to Castaspella, eyes softening instantly as she smoothed some of her hair from her face to tuck it behind an ear. In response, the Head Sorceress gave a vague mumble before snuggling back against her. It elicited a smile, however brief, as Shadow Weaver knew that this moment would forever be etched into her memory… as the final time she’d stay with Castaspella. 

When she was certain Castaspella wouldn’t wake, Shadow Weaver extricated herself from the warm embrace and inviting bed before searching out for the hidden cache of lens powder beneath the floorboards of the room. A quick spell of summoning and Shadow Weaver was dressed as she used to be - the red horde dress bringing memories back to the fore of her mind ever since she’d returned to Mystacor. It didn’t feel like the mere months that had passed since she’d come back from… death, if she had to call it that.

She would have liked to have spoken to Castaspella more; thanked her for hours and spoiled her rotten for her help. Yet, ever the opportunist, Shadow Weaver was resolute in her goal.

Escape. Find a respite. Search for clues as to how she might have survived the spell. And… perhaps she might return one day. When she had enough courage to do so…

Plucking the top from the vial, Shadow Weaver wasted no more time in crafting the transportation spell. The motion was like second nature to her and when it was finally finished, she brought to the surface of her mind the direction she wished to go. 

The Crimson Wastes would keep her sufficiently safe. Strong enough to scratch out an existence and discrete enough to hide her true identity. Perhaps her dress would need to change again, but she’d rather not have to invoke unhappy memories of the last time she tried to disguise herself.

It was better than Bright Moon.

She cast one last look toward Castaspella, cursing her hesitation as the pain in her chest tightened, “... I’ll return to you. One day,” She spoke like a promise, the words unnatural to her before activating the spell and disappearing into the night. 

…  
..  
.

She is riding the Etherian winds once more, the taste far more potent than she remembered it once was; likely a result of the magic being released to the world. It was like the finest wine and Shadow Weaver partook of it like she was the Lady of a Castle. 

But something was different. Off. 

The pain blindsighted her; just as a mind-numbing as it was mere days ago! 

When the spell let out, the circle burning beneath her feet - ACTUALLY on fire - Shadow Weaver stumbled from the circle holding her arms in a vice-like grip. “No… No, no, no, NO!” She roared, livid that something had gone wrong AGAIN and she was still ignorant of the reason why. Shakily she brought up one of her hands and gazed upon her palm. “I… It’s not there, but why does it _hurt so much_ , damn it!” With a groan, she hung her head in disgust as she tried to think through the agony. 

That was when she heard it. The low rumble of something powerful and dangerous. 

Her head raised, slowly and cautious, using the pain as a tool to sharpen her senses as she listened for the sound with ears twitching. It was only now that she realized, cursing her distracted state, that she never made it to the Crimson Wastes. She was in some kind of dark but bioluminescent forest… it certainly _wasn’t_ The Whispering Woods. 

She couldn’t focus on the where right now, however, as the silence seemed to become deafening and Shadow Weaver knew what that meant. 

_To die mere seconds after I’ve regained my magic... What terrible irony._

She reached for magic, ready to attempt the spell again, when a violent rumble beneath her feet signaled an attack. Turning in the direction, Shadow Weaver raised her hands and summoned her magic, “UGH!” The circles appeared, flickered, and then broke apart with a painful shatter. “Damn!” However, by the time she realized that she was unable to access her connection, it was too late. 

She was vaguely aware of something colliding against her, bowling her over and the sensation of falling before the ground met with her and she skidded wildly, painfully, against the forest floor. Many somethings cracked. Fighting for consciousness, Shadow Weaver managed to see what was trying to kill her before her vision faded. 

A Guardian.


End file.
